I took the C-train down to 17th Avenue with the intention of seeing Dr. Lung for acupuncture again, but when I got there his office was locked up, and old newspapers covered the windows. I peeked through a patch of glass that hadn’t been covered in paper. His desk and chairs and all the paintings...
She said only the driver gets to pick the music—and the volume also. She switched the radio station every few seconds. She never stayed on one station long enough to even hear the song. I’m not sure she even wanted to listen to music, maybe she just wanted to scan. Finally, “Smells Like Teen Spir...