Is only
Fifteen fucking syllables
If you have never read Raymond Carver, your understanding of 20h century fiction remains unfinished.
It was a brief moment when literacy benevolently conjoined with brevity.
For the last time.
Before a brute, bumper-sticker darkness.
Ate America.
Carver is
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when we talk about literature
Sheesh,
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I already thought you were the best blogger ever.
And then you tout Ray.
OMG
S
I know Tess.
A lovely poet.
Can't believe it's been twenty years. That thought is not as wrist-slicingly depressing as his short stories, but it's depressing enough.
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