My first paying job in New York was in the fundraising and development department of a nonprofit that helped homeless New Yorkers get access to healthcare. The job was a godsend. A woman who did some work with the off-off Broadway theater where I spent my final semester of grad school interning was looking for …
Everything is heightened in high school. Our emotions and hormones are in such a state of SOS that every decision, every milestone, and every word spoken to and about us are magnified as if by one of those giant telescopes that can make the rings of Saturn look like a delightful place to vacation. The …
On my flight back to America from Israel, a small brunette girl in a unicorn t-shirt put her plastic box of markers in the back pocket of the seat in front of her while she colored in her book. Though they weren’t actually markers, they were clear plastic pens in various hues of landscapes and …
I love my neighborhood. It’s families and college students and people with dogs and ice cream trucks. I have trains on either side of my apartment, beautiful views of the sunset from atop the hill, and the neighborhood is peppered with great little parks. They’re great to me at least. One such park is across …
The curtains are closed as I enter. All around, frenetic energy pulls at my attention like a toddler pulling at mom’s shirt. Some people are in their seats, others stand, their conversations growing louder and softer like waves toppling onto the beach, yet I remain focused on the curtains, on what’s behind them, on what’s …
Ryan Brinson 