Withers

The image: a chipped tooth, a bloody mouth, a spray of bloody saliva that fans out onto your date’s white dress shirt. The instant that nervous smile withers on her face. That is my image, my few words for the day. Because I write everyday.

“I think the world is dying because we were dead to its astonishments pretty much. It’ll be around but it will become less and less until it’s finally compatible with our feelings for it.”

— Joy Williams / Harrow