Maybe I still hadn’t gotten my period or anything, but surely this was proof: things were real and we were getting older.
Rust climbs happily along these old parked VWs, in no real hurry to decompose. Vines full of unnecessary flowers unfurl at their own damn leisure.
Paris changes, poet Charles Baudelaire wrote, faster than the human heart, and as far as my neighborhood is concerned, he was right. We’d hardly settled into our new digs before people starting tearing things up.
The entries are vulnerable, funny, and present a true to life mindset of a woman in her early twenties: A woman who deals with heartbreak, growing up, death, jobs, and the perils of a mouse-infested house.
an essay and writing can be whatever you make of it. There’s no “correct” way to write. There are no standards of what an essay has to have in it or needs to achieve in order to be considered an essay. That an essay is never in final draft form, even if it’s published.
When he describes Slaughterhouse-Five’s themes in larger contexts, it’s like hearing that great English teacher you had delve into a exegesis with buoyant intensity.