The Heart You Save Won’t Be Your Own

“That August I moved from a high ceiling dorm room in a historic landmark to the attic of an old flag shop downtown. The distance was a few miles, but the difference was like flipping channels from Masterpiece Theater to Cops. My dorm had overlooked manicured lawns and a circular garden with an endowment all its own; my new house was two doors down from a grass rotary where women sold blow jobs for $5.”

 

Over at Guernica, I wrote about heart transplants, social services, and quitting my first job after college. Here’s a link!

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