AUGUST IS THE month of spider webs. Where I live in Chicago, they erupt and crackle from corners and streetlamps and porches, birthing and killing multitudes. It’s a month of green exploding and beginning to rot, a month of lingering heat and thunderstorms and frayed nerves and migraines, a stickiness that won’t go away. I’m uncomfortably alive.
Read the Full Article
Already a subscriber? Login