IT’S A DAY of rest, and you may be in the mood for a quiet corner and a comfy chair. We’ve hand-picked the week’s best reads for you to savour.
We hear a car door slam, then a loud knock on the back window. John Deere has a gun in one hand and a badge in the other. He’s telling me to get out of the car. My lips still smell like Filet-o-Fish. ”Only you,” he says to me. “You going to jail tonight.” He’s got the gun to my chest.
2. The sex diary of a married couple – from both sides
An anonymous husband and wife describe a week in their sex life, and their differing feelings about it (NYMag).
We miss each other and tonight has potential to be one of those special, magic nights. I just want to rush straight home. But when I walk in the door, I find that my brother has dropped by. They are eating tacos. It becomes clear that sex is impossible.
I used to go back and check and make sure the doors were locked and that the windows were locked. I would check, I would say, at least a dozen times every single night. The first couple nights that you do that, and you know the doors are locked! But I couldn’t not go check and make sure the door was locked.
Once again, the tunnel entrance in the parking space was invisible. As the truck pulled away at a little before 4:30 p.m., it had begun to rain. Behind the wheel, Maytorena almost certainly believed the tunnel operation had been yet another audacious success.
He sees Brussels sprouts as a viable alternative to French fries, and he has built an ingenious process to realise that vision. “People say, ‘I have not had a Brussels sprout in ten years’,” says Roberts, “‘but I will have these four times a week.’”
Sage and Adam left the party and made their way to the park. On the way, they stopped at a Burger King and asked a group of guys from the neighborhood for help. There were no takers. Vernazzaro was a feared brawler who had seven inches and at least 100 pounds on Sage. Everyone figured it was going to be a short fight.
… AND A CLASSIC READ FROM THE ARCHIVES…
In January 2011, Justin Heckert went on the road with four broke stand-up comics to see what happened as they tried to break the big time. He wrote about it for Atlanta Magazine.
They shook hands with the DJs, the club owners, the bartenders. They threw their words at drunken patrons and sold their comedy CDs and T-shirts out of a suitcase. Long after the applause, they collapsed onto queen-sized motel beds they had to share, snoring themselves to sleep, farts rippling like midnight trumpets beneath the comforters.