Sublime

kind of urbane world-weariness, a pronounced ambivalence in all…

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She saw stains she hadn’t noticed on a silk shirt, an aura of sweat in the armpits. All these lovely things she had ruined.

It occurred to me that there was in fact no magazine, overt or hidden, that would not make sense in the waiting room of a psychotherapist. The

Under each of those dresses you find so bewitching, a body is locked away in quarantine.

It had that paradoxical quality of mutability combined with recognizability:

Someone besides her had noticed that there was something from those days, and from Max, which still glowed in the dark, an historical incident of some kind.

My mother found a fancy wristwatch catalog in the book swap at the dump. The front cover was crumpled, but she ironed it, as she ironed crumpled dollar bills. On the coffee table, next to a glass bowl from a garage sale, it looked like something a rich person would have. She set it just askew on the table, as if someone had been reading it and care

“Damn,” I said. I thought about how Megan and I, according to the lifestyle marketing biographies the sales team had invented, were “Style Eccentrics,” meaning that they could not predict our shopping habits. One day we would buy a coat at the Goodwill and the next day a Chanel blouse. We were unfavorable as consumers, impossible to pin down, and I

Donald Antrim,