Here’s an excerpt from my latest Image essay if you’re interested:
Isaiah returned to the scene of the crime to survey his work. It was a damned atrocity. Paint ran haphazardly against the grain, tacky pools of it collected on the surface, and thick rivulets had crawled down the sides and hardened.
“Look at it,” the boy said, his arms spread wide. “It’s beautiful!”
Two days later I sat in my car beside a lovely city park and vomited. I texted my wife: “I think I just had a panic attack.”
I don’t think I had a legitimate reason to panic. I wasn’t being attacked by a bear, after all. But there was the feeling of panic, and there was definitely the vomit, and so there I was.
You can read the rest here.
