Running Close to the Wind

by Alexandra Rowland

“Do you want the big hard words explanation or the teeny little words explanation?” “Teeny little ones. I don’t like having too many things in my brain. I like it to be really tidy in there, like a nearly empty white room.”

“I’m very politely ignoring the furious muttering happening behind me,” said Julian. “I can’t make out what you’re saying, but I can hear Avra hyperventilating, so I assume I’m being objectified.”

“I am a poet, Julian, of course I am crying!” Avra wailed. “A poet’s whole job is to celebrate sluts and cry about beautiful things coming to tragic, untimely ends!” “Ah,” said Julian solemnly. “Of course.”

The best comedy comes from a place of deep, righteous anger—and as long as you can laugh, there’s still a part of you that’s free.