Solus Meets Ipse
& this, this is me not writing the typical American anecdote. Here I am not contemplating my navel (or, novel, that too will work), not wandering into jazz bars, not lighting up, not staying out all night. […] What if, by heaven, I wrote of famine or genocide, the man made quadriplegic when his children pushed him out a window, the teenager raped by her math teacher, but the truth is that I don’t know where Serbia is. Who does, really? […]
-“Solus Meets Ipse” by Susanna Childress
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