
Ben Lerner Reads “The Ferry”
The New Yorker: The Writer's Voice - New Fiction from The New Yorker
The Fall of Manhattan
Manhattan always smelled like weed now, even when no smoker could be seen. The drops stopped being fine and fell on cue. They darkened the pavement, the wall around the park, the inactive fountain. A group of kids on a day trip waiting to re-board their bus shriek with pleasure.
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