or perhaps a very small and angry god
with an affinity for socks and unprovoked violence.

Vast, incomprehensible, and depressing, the Hurry Up and Wait is the perfect way to kill time on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Untime your blues, shave seconds off your five o’ clock shadow, or haggle a kiss away and trade it for an hour on a hot stove: This classic cocktail has it all.

It’s been the shy side of two weeks since I found myself adrift in this mid-century modern fruit basket shaped like the architectural renderings of Noah’s Ark. The oranges mock me with their zest, the lemons with their unwavering yellow. But as my fibrous plumbing leaks the fluid from my body—my stringy bits are edible by the way, right up until the end—I have but one simple request: just let me get baked. We can do it together. I know you want to.

New issue arriving December 20th, 2025!

Let’s face it, my shtick was tired even from the beginning. The beret and shades, the lazy jive slang? No one wants to be around me, with my pathological neediness to be loved. Always trying so hard to ingratiate myself with the embarrassing charade of my “good taste:” the painting, music, poetry. Faked an interest in modern art I couldn’t stand, hired an interior decorator I couldn’t afford.