One Up, One Down: How to Prosper in America_The Booth_The Second Symposium_The March Home
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One Up, One Down: How to Prosper in America
When I turned 12, my uncle Drew gave me a lawn mower. He said I was the man of the house since my dad left my mom and me when I was 2、 I wonder why I had to wait until 15 years old to be considered the man of the house. Maybe because this was our first house.At 4 years old, we lived in a big building with lots of people I didn’t know. Beds in rows, and it always smelled bad. The one thing I remember most is the lines. I had to wait in lines to do everything. To eat, to sleep, to go to the bathroom. All the time. Always lines.That’s how it was until I was 11、 Mom got us a house on Willow Avenu...
The Booth
Thewww.onedoor.cc small diner at the end of the street was open twenty-four hours. It had a bell over the door so every time a new customer walked in, it was annoyingly announced to the whole shop. But the people who dined there were used to it, maybe even enjoyed it. The food was usually flavorless and cold but there was always a homemade pie ready to be served, and hot coffee to be poured.Ding."How many today?" The waitress behind the counter asked as a girl, about twenty, walked in. She had on a bright green dress and her brown hair had been curled: she was meeting someone."Two, please." She was gingerly...
The Second Symposium
Last night was something of a disaster. It started out well enough. Alexander and I had gone to see a play put on by his twin sister, Eleanor, at the university’s theatrical club. I remember him coming to my door and asking if I wanted to come along in his usual stiff, matter-of-fact manner. He kept his hands behind his greatcoat and rocked slightly on his brogue heels, evidently feeling faintly awkward but nonetheless maintaining his rigid posture and keeping conviction in his clipped voice. They were strange siblings, him and Eleanor. He was aloof and often sequestered in his own head. She...
The March Home
Torches roar. I mean, the old style, pitchfork-and-mob torches. Tiki torches? I had never once thought about them until December 31st, 2018, but they roar. When you light them. They roar like the wind roars in the Hebrides in the winter, for a moment. No, they roar like the crash of the tumultuous sea against the side of a stricken boat. My great-grandfather grew up listening to those roars, lying in his bed at night while the wind howled, going to the fishing as a teenager and getting caught in a squall on the way back. Then, when he was 24, he heard another roar from the faraway shores of ma...