"Just when Sam was getting ready to head to the Sea of Clouds or CBGB, he’d be exiled again to Long Island. He would stop at a gas station to rub soap on his shirt to cover the smell of Sam’s cigarettes and to gargle away the pasty aftertaste of pills with the travel-sized bottle of mouthwash he carried."
“Two days after providing a sample of my reproductive cells for analysis, I was in the basement of the Park Slope Food Coop bagging the dried flesh of a tropical stone fruit, trying not to listen to one of my louder coworkers as she explained her decision to pull her first-grader out of a local public school and, despite the cost and the elaborate application process, place him in a well-known private one.”
