Between Tim and me, we have two six-packs. Tim’s is on his stomach; mine is in my fridge. I used to have something that resembled a six-pack on my stomach if I squinted hard enough, but that was when I still went to Pottruck, the university gym. “Damn,” Tim noted when I took off … More A Break-up. Or At Least a Break.
Among the digital pile of half-assed papers I’ve written for my classes at Penn, I have one titled “Animal Liberation: Not Later, But Right Meow” from a philosophy class. I went to see the class TA during office hours after he graded it, since we all had to go through mandatory meetings to discuss our … More Really Wanna Do