I hereby demand that we all remember how powerful and generous a weird little pasta can be.
happy romance week, fuckers.
It's really always been soup.
or, How To Make Things In America
Snatch your joy, wherever you can.
Grief, it seems, abounds this week, and I suppose we’re the tiniest bit lucky that it already coincides with a very casserole-heavy one.
some notes on loss, nostalgia, and growing up
"It happens in the inbetween."
It's still August, I guess?
And tomatoes feel like something.
