
HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS by Aaron Burch
It was exciting and sad and over too fast and underwhelming and amazing, all at the same. It was all of it. It was beautiful.
It was exciting and sad and over too fast and underwhelming and amazing, all at the same. It was all of it. It was beautiful.
His physique is quite distressing. It is not something I like to observe.
I enjoy the wish fulfillment of making up a controlling, overbearing asshole and then torturing him by making everything go wrong no matter what he does.
Like anything, Hot Wheels has a language. Like any language you encounter, you want to make this one your own.
At sixteen I went ocean swimming. I swam so deep that the land turned into a thin grey line. The ocean turned into hills like blue elephants.
Kyle experimented with ChatGPT once: “What are twenty-five short story ideas?” The answers it puked out were uniformly terrible, except for one.
The parrot needed quietude and a sense of security in order to come down. My neighbors must’ve pegged me as mad.
Oh, the bear came with the house, I lied. The Lord hates a lying tongue, the pastor said.
I knew I was going to love it when the head started to vomit guns. The tone felt like a Monty Python film. Is that a common comparison?
“It’s not that it disappears,” he said. “It’s just deep. It’s like a cliff. It goes all the way down. But it’s something new, Rico.”