The following handwritten letter was found folded neatly on the marble steps of McKinley Hall:

Dear Lisa,

That new tuna-scented deodorant suppository you recommended doesn’t seem to work very well, particularly when I’m hanging out down at the docks at the abandoned fishing marina or volunteering at the trout hatchery off Interstate 57 (right near the Red Lobster). And weird, I’m really split about those dissociative identity pills that have me feeling like two different people half the time. Plus I guess I’m just a little upset since I found out that my dad once spent a summer as a Mexican pool boy masquerading as a French Irishman from China operating in an Italian mafia family that defected from El Salvador. Or wait, I think he was a German Swede from inner city Iceland. And he could breakdance.

My alter ego simultaneously loves and hates my dual personality,

Kristin

Song of the Day:

Liam Lynch, “United States of Whatever”