At The Nervous Breakdown: Dead, I Am.

I have a new essay up at The Nervous Breakdown: Dead, I Am.

An excerpt:

My son collects sticks. He thinks they are for his grandfather's fireplace. The fact that it is in the 100s and humid and the family would collectively strangle his grandfather if he tried to build a fire doesn't dissuade the collection at all. One might think that, being in Brooklyn, stick collecting might be difficult. One would be wrong. We live near a park that apparently has sticks flown in from all over the Tri-state...