That day, I scored a corner chair. I'd come for a heavy-metal detox to assist my recovery from Lyme disease. I usually had brain fog, but, after an EDTA drip, paragraphs flowed through my head. I worked as a teacher, lived with roommates, and couldn't afford the treatment, so I put it on credit cards and hoped that healing my brain would pay off.
The center's patients varied-Lyme, chronic fatigue, lupus, Alzheimer's, M.S., A.L.S., cancer-but we all followed Dr. M.'s dictates: avoid sugar, grains, gluten, dairy, alcohol, fruit, and overexcitement. Getting infusions stank. Still, we harbored hopes: having your favorite nurse stick you, or scoring Dr. M.'s special genmaicha tea.
Denise brought my I.V. stand. A man I'll call Hector, a middle-aged screenwriter, said, Denise, is Roberta coming today?
Denise shrugged.
She said she'd jam with me, Hector explained. I brought my guitar.
Roberta was sick, Denise told Hector gently. Also, seventysomething. If she came in, Hector should let her get her medicine.
Hector was underweight and allergic to most food. Still, his request was absurd, incredibly presumptuous. Jam with Roberta Flack? "Killing Me Softly," arguably the best singer alive?
I asked for genmaicha tea. Only two packets, Denise said, saved for-she whispered-Roberta.
Bu hikaye The New Yorker dergisinin July 10 - 17, 2023 (Double Issue) sayısından alınmıştır.
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Bu hikaye The New Yorker dergisinin July 10 - 17, 2023 (Double Issue) sayısından alınmıştır.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 9,000+ magazines and newspapers.
Already a subscriber? Giriş Yap
President for Sale - A survey of today's political ads.
On a mid-October Sunday not long ago sun high, wind cool-I was in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, for a book festival, and I took a stroll. There were few people on the streets-like the population of a lot of capital cities, Harrisburg's swells on weekdays with lawyers and lobbyists and legislative staffers, and dwindles on the weekends. But, on the façades of small businesses and in the doorways of private homes, I could see evidence of political activity. Across from the sparkling Susquehanna River, there was a row of Democratic lawn signs: Malcolm Kenyatta for auditor general, Bob Casey for U.S. Senate, and, most important, in white letters atop a periwinkle not unlike that of the sky, Kamala Harris for President.
LIFE ADVICE WITH ANIMAL ANALOGIES
Go with the flow like a dead fish.
CONNOISSEUR OF CHAOS
The masterly musical as mblages of Charles Ives
BEAUTIFUL DREAMERS
How the Brothers Grimm sought to awaken a nation.
THE ARTIFICIAL STATE
A different kind of machine politics.
THE HONEST ISLAND GREG JACKSON
Craint did not know when he had come to the island or why he had come.
THE SHIPWRECK DETECTIVE
Nigel Pickford has spent a lifetime searching for sunken treasure-without leaving dry land.
THE HOME FRONT
Some Americans are preparing for a second civil war.
SYRIA'S EMPIRE OF SPEED
Bashar al-Assad's regime is now a narco-state reliant on sales of amphetamines.
TUCKER EVERLASTING
Trump's favorite pundit takes his show on the road.
