A Certain Hunger

by Chelsea G. Summers

It was all about whom you knew, whom you blew, and whom you’d yet to screw.

I read, I wrote, I learned, and I fucked—it was a classic liberal arts education.

Fucking, metaphorical or literal, is New York City’s soul. Fucking with, fucking up, fucking over, fucking around, fucking right: New York Fucking City has earned its name.

Perhaps he couldn’t compete with Oprah. But who can.

I like a man who can keep his commitments to me.

Just because I’m a psychopath doesn’t mean I’m incapable of learning and growing, or whatever.

What is heaven but the hope for righteous acknowledgment, and what is hell but the fear of discovery.