I like how most Manhattan cabbies still won’t stop for Brooklyn fares or black guys under 40, but screech across five lanes of traffic to pick up hungover club kids in the kind of heat that leaves an inch-thick film of crotch sweat and body glitter when they peel their bare asses off the vinyl seating.
Thought and Memory
New Fiction by Ed Park
Malaysian Neo-Nazis
Fighting for a Pure Malay Race
The Strongest Dwarf in New Jersey
Remembering My Tormentor
Gay Men and Their Misogyny Problem
It's Not Cute Anymore
Snooping Around Nicolas Cage's House
So Many Bummers
Saudi Arabia's Feminist Revolution
It's Not Happening
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