From Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (act I)
by Edward Albee
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Our Stained Tabula Rasa
As I re-read William Golding’s Lord of the Flies in my later years, while I also struggle to make sense of our current moment, it no longer ...
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Here I sit - nursing a scotch, looking out at the pink and orange reflection of the sunset on the mountain—pondering my solitary act of civi... -
I have, by some measure of recklessness or sheer geographic fidgeting, inhabited eight U.S. cities. Birmingham, New Orleans, Fort Lauderdale... -
On Saturday night at Belles, before the drag show, they'd play a slow song. One song. A chance for couples to touch, to be intimate. So ...
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