The Destroyed Object Is Resurrected - A Prosepoem
I feel better at home, though when I go into the kitchen the staff have turned into simian creatures. Not quite human, not quite monkey. Something gleefully in between, well-dressed as ever.
I feel better at home, though when I go into the kitchen the staff have turned into simian creatures. Not quite human, not quite monkey. Something gleefully in between, well-dressed as ever.
America has always sold itself like a potluck dinner—“Bring your culture! Bring your grandma’s recipes! Bring the funky spices we can pretend we invented!”