You Learn To Move On Without The

Yes. Yes I Am. I Am A Completely Demented Misogynist.

When We Sat Down To Eat I Took Inventory Of The People In The Room, And The Remnants Of My Good Mood Evaporated When I Realized How Very Little I Had In Common With Them – The Career Dads, The Responsible And Diligent Moms – And I Was Soon Filled With Dread And Loneliness. I Locked In On The Smug Feeling Of Superiority That Married Couples Give Off And That Permeated The Air – The Shared Assumptions, The Sweet And Contented Apathy, It All Lingered Everywhere – Despite The Absence In The Room Of Anyone Single At Which To Aim This.

The Images I Had Were Of People Being Driven Mad By Living In The City. Images Of Parents Who Were So Hungry And Unfulfilled That They Ate Their Own Children.

Every Book For Me Is An Exorcism In Some Way Or Another, Working Through My Feelings At The Time.

... Her Taste In Music Haunted My Memory And I Had To Stop At Tower Records On The Upper West Side To Buy Ninety Dollars' Worth Of Rap Cds But, As Expected, I'm At A Loss: [...] Voices Uttering Ugly Words Like Digit, Pudding, Chunk.