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(nonfiction)
Author: Another Chicago Magazine
I loved her. But I never, ever felt close to her. The few times I tried to speak honestly to her as I struggled to understand how I’d come to see the world as I did, she was so hurt that it would have been cruel to persist.
(nonfiction)
The ground was frozen. Her body became the same.
(nonfiction)
We panicked all evening, clearing our throats, secretly gargling with hydrogen peroxide.
(The Loop)
“I’m doing fine. You just need to worry about me getting arrested for shooting one of these fucking turkeys who are buying up all the toilet paper.”
(nonfiction)
He went into the kitchen to look for the car keys, found them on the hook where she usually hung them, and put them in his pocket.
(fiction)
Maybe if I’m busy thinking about COVID-19, I won’t have room to think about the living, screaming person that will soon detach itself from my own person.
(nonfiction)
After all, as Camus reminds us, plague never really dies.
(nonfiction)
All night long I replayed the five minutes we had spent at this tourist attraction, trying to remember if I had gotten close to any strangers.
(nonfiction)
My wife, who is usually in charge of buying groceries, seemed perplexed by some of my purchases for outlasting the apocalypse.
(nonfiction)
