destination to the Uber route. Goddammit! she

stereo. “Ben!” shouted Amy. “Hey, Ben!”

Jealousy and hangovers, as common wisdom goes, are temporary.

Jealousy is like a hangover:

yet despite the intensity of your suffering, no one feels sorry for you, no one cosigns your fury.

Among those cases, the number of victims who were misgendered in their own obituaries is greater than the number of victims whose murderer has been identified.

Any effort to get them to consider such a thing as some American’s gender presentation is destined to break apart against the stony shores of a massive Slavic indifference.

After all, isn’t that the Gatsby glory of the New York dream: telling the grandest story about yourself that you could hope to have others believe in the distant hope that you’ll believe it yourself?

quirks of dysphoria did not follow a Freudian pattern—no, they sequenced themselves according to an alchemist’s mixture of beauty standards, consumerism, and liberal doses of self-loathing.