Carverās prose is almost more akin to a painting than most stories. Reading this collection felt like peeking through a series of windows I wasn't meant to peek through, an act of eavesdropping on an intimate moment between strangers. He captures snippets of humanity in a way that makes his characters so familiar, despite often knowing nothing about them outside what is happening in that moment. Each story is an illustration of a relationship between people, the way a great painting can be. Itās how I imagine being on the New Jersey Turnpike would be if I could hear the conversations inside the other cars.
This is the one that pulled me into Carverās world for good.
As much about death as about love. āWhy Donāt You Dance?ā and the title story are sublime.
For grown ups.
Donāt be that person. Mf got a banana and a Celsius, something is going down and they need to make a quick exit. You got mad vegetables anyway, let the cashier breathe a little before they struggle to remember how to ring up them green onions you copping.
Nothing better than giving someone a little squeeze to show them you got them. Itās always great when someone can sense that you need it and add a little something to the hug. Donāt settle for a dap. Get in there.
I have no context at all but I love it. Feels like Iām missing out but thatās alright itās just good to hear somebody having a big ol belly laugh and enjoying this shit while weāre breathing.
