Essay by Abby Kurzman
Who named that cashier Glory Be, and why does she look so miserable?
Who named that cashier Glory Be, and why does she look so miserable?
I learned that although death was final, we weren’t allowed to mourn our losses.
Sometimes I write other things, hiding them from my then-husband.
As a sixth grader, I was too excited about qualifying for my school’s competitive math team to realize I was committing social suicide.
Spanish and music became ingrained in me, but English was my mother tongue.
At its worst, contemporary online style bears a disturbing resemblance to the cheery falseness of advertising.
As I reread that sentence, I realize it’s crap, too.
Words, words, words. As a journalist, they are my bricks and mortar.
'Wait!' she yelled, running past at least a dozen confused travelers in the security line.
I loved being a pilot, but what did that do, really, to advance humanity?