FICTION - Deep Cut
The Atlantic|July - August 2020
“Naw, you don’t have to worry about me,” Thomas said, after his mother had finished her characteristically perfunctory warning to us about drugs, alcohol, and rough-looking types. “Paul thinks he’s cool now, though.” ¶ “Paul, when did this happen?” Mrs. Rickley said. ¶ She wasn’t a hip mom, exactly, but she got points for not caring particularly about what her children or their friends got up to.
Andrew Martin
FICTION - Deep Cut

She was a physics professor at Princeton and had consistently made it clear that she did not need this shit.

“I just woke up one morning wearing Ray-Bans,” I said. “I guess it was for an album-cover shoot, and it kind of spiraled out from there.”

“He’s trying to impress girls now,” Thomas said.

“Oh, God forbid, Thomas,” his mom said. “Maybe you should try to impress a girl. After your hair grows back. And don’t be a smart-ass, Paul.”

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