by Adeline Macdonald Clean steam iron the linen sheets, white and crisp and beautiful and without fault or fold White walls upon white walls with nothing to upset you or hurt you or make you cry or want to leave or want to think Do you love it? Is it…
by Russell Brickey 5 p.m., winter— a man stood before my freshman dorm with a woman in a wheelchair. “I used to go to school here,” he said, “but then I was drafted for the Korean War.” He clearly wanted to talk, but I was young, uncomfortable, not knowing what…