
Sheila Heti Reads “Just a Little Fever”
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
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You Like Old Men, He Asked.
Angela liked the fact that he had not said that she should exercise or eat better. He was just calling her dear to be nice. It didn't matter that he was old. Old was as good as young. They agreed to meet in half an hour, and they were sitting across from each other in a dim red room. Angelo wasn't the only one: can i call you pearl? That was my wife's name.
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