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Literary

How to Date Me (and my dead husband)

When We Match No shirtless mirror selfies. No photos of dead animal trophies. Be a little bit chubby. Have a little bit of facial hair, or don’t. You can’t be too tall. Say you’re into photography or writing or art. Tease some sensitivity. Give a hint that you might ...

Keto Crash

Last week, I dreamt I was eating a bagel. Not a New York bagel, the outside crisp and sprinkled with poppy seeds, toasted flakes of onion and tiny, square cubes of salt. No, the dense, bready pre-sliced kind you buy in plastic bags. It was the closest I got to bread in ...

“Grief Bacon: Pressuring Myself” at Modern Loss

Migraines run in my family. Growing up, they were the only ailment that ever forced my mother out of commission. She’d power through a stomach bug or cold, but the migraine’s white, popping focal auras and drilling pain forced her to retreat to her bedroom. Door ...