View From Here

Wed, Oct 9, 2013, 10:09pm
When I was younger, I had several voices: the heavy and assertive voice for home, the lithe and overly polite voice for school, the quiet and unassuming voice for adults, the high and lilting voice for friends, the reticent near-whisper for acquaintances, and the severe voice in the back of my h
Tue, Sep 24, 2013, 9:45pm
I woke up to a chunk of ice soaking through my tent and melting against my forehead. It was snowing in the desert, and I was completely alone.
Tue, Sep 17, 2013, 9:11pm
A chain of gutted pigs moves along a conveyor belt supported from the ceiling, swaying from the sudden stops and starts of machinery. Watery blood from the gaping holes in the pigs’ stomachs drips down their back legs, forming a red stream running into a nearby floor drain.
Wed, Sep 11, 2013, 10:45pm
I applied to intern at an online will storage company during a LionSHARE binge brought on by desperation to stay in New York for the summer. Had I actually bothered to research at all, I probably wouldn’t have sent that one of the 20 cover letters I churned out that night.
Wed, May 1, 2013, 10:23pm
I’m not someone with an extensive collection of stories. If you’ve known me for a year, you’ve probably heard all of mine. And you’ve definitely heard one of my favorites.
Wed, Apr 24, 2013, 9:53pm
Even on a Saturday afternoon some rooms at the Met remain sparsely populated and seemingly forgotten. Wandering accidentally into one of these overlooked alcoves, the first thing you notice is the dank smell that seems caked in the ancient carpeting and the even more ancient artworks.
Wed, Apr 17, 2013, 8:47pm
I get a headache while boarding the bus that promises to take me away from New York to visit one of my best friends in Pennsylvania.
Wed, Apr 10, 2013, 10:45pm
This past summer I went to volunteer at an orphanage in Tamil Nadu, India. That’s not the story I want to tell, though.
Wed, Apr 3, 2013, 8:24pm
I shivered under heated blankets against the cold steel of the operating table, and a nurse with colored contacts strapped me down to keep me still.
Wed, Mar 27, 2013, 10:26pm
When I was little, I used to beg my mom to take me to the finest pottery store in New York City: Our Name is Mud, or Mud for short. Mud was a place where every child could create a letter, an animal, or some other undefined shape out of pottery.