Sublime

“Why me?” “You’ve read the book, and you’re the smallest.” “I am not the smallest. I’m taller than both of you.” “Yes, but you’re slender.” Ashbury reached for his friend’s arm and lifted it. “Look at that. I’d go so far as to say willowy.” Chase snatched his arm away. “I am not willowy, for Christ’s sake.

“Get real. I’m not risking getting this coat dirty; I read the label. And maybe there’s a sugar daddy or two that might be interested in an all-right-looking, almost thirty-year-old virgin. Do you have a lonely, rich cousin?”

Glenn McDonald,

She ate one meal a day, at lunchtime—ham-and-cheese roll-ups drizzled with honey. Otherwise, she drank can after can of Diet Coke in the morning, and then about midafternoon she switched to mango margaritas, and the margaritas saw her out. She said this was pandemic behavior, but the only kitchen equipment she brought with her when she moved in was

—Charlotte Clingstone presented a kind of ideal. She was bohemian but accomplished. Worldly but rooted.

“Bauer Bodoni,” he said, “and Times New Roman, and Garamond.”