The Hollywood Bowl is dead. The vast parking lots are silent, the attendants sent home to join the millions awaiting unemployment checks.
Read MoreThe collected pieces come to us via a creative writing teacher, who has compiled handwritten poems written by inmates of a California jail.
Read MoreI have become, in these last 6 months, a twisty little ouroboros. I eat my tail because it’s all I know and I savour my pain and confusion. I am always full and always empty and a little twitchy from all the coffee.
Read MoreA comic by Joshua Boulet
Read MoreI hadn’t been on the subway in months, not since the orders came to stay home, certainly not since I was sick. Sick is a relative term, of course.
Read MoreI speak to friends and family daily. I only live with pets. I’ve seen inside many homes through the Internet. I spend twenty-three hours a day in my own.
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