Back when we were friends, we spent Saturday nights in the tunnels. This was sophomore year, the cusp of fall in California, and at midnight, I waited in my bedroom for Vijay and Jun to drive up, so I could shimmy out my bedroom window and into that ’93 Honda Civic rank with bud and body spray. At that hour, the suburbs were so quiet it was like we were the only ones alive. We drove past lonely playgrounds and dying strip malls and tract homes built in the...
Sveta walked up the gravel drive to see what she came to see: a blind Shetland pony limping out the back of a Washington County school bus. Sveta’s father, a tow-truck driver, couldn’t afford a stable, but he could afford to move a junked bus to the back of his property. As a kid, Sveta helped him rip out the seats, the subfloor, and the back door. Sveta’s father couldn’t afford a horse, either,...
The cabin air is dry and chemical. Everyone around us is watching My 600-lb Life. Poppy’s head is back and her mouth is open and she’s making throaty snores. Amy Klobuchar, in a purple vest from Amazon that says SERVICE DOG DO NOT PET, pants belly-up on Poppy’s thighs. Valiantly I have taken the middle seat, leaving them the window. The guy to my left has his shoes and socks off. He’s talking very...
