A Certain Hunger

by Chelsea G. Summers

From a distance an ellipses looks solid.

I’m quite certain the owners had insurance. After all, they had a lovely Le Creuset cast-iron French oven. That sort is always well insured.

There’s a lot to be said for intimidating intelligence and a dearth of conscience, and I possess both.

Feminism comes to all things, it seems, but it comes to recognizing homicidal rage the slowest.

I learned that being female is as prefab, thoughtless, soulless, and abjectly capitalist as a Big Mac. It’s not important that it’s real. It’s only important that it’s tasty.