Issue 006

In Issue 6, Rand Richards Cooper makes golf a metaphor for life, perhaps death, in fiction. Eamon Grennan is for the birds, poetically. Mark Oppenheimer can’t hammer in the morning, can’t hammer in the evening. David Fitzpatrick says don’t call him mentally ill—he was nuts. Stephen Burt knows of a marriage that feels nothing like work; care to read on? Mark Saba says that artists need friends, too. Alec Appelbaum returns to the Haven, bikes, says we can teach NYC something. Scott Warmuth says Bob Dylan stole. Sasha Vliet rides through the screw-music subculture of Texas. Emily Moore writes sad sonnets that, if she can write, you can read.