601595_303967846364060_898773954_nHi, Evan, I think I follow you on Twitter.

Yes, I follow you, too. You’re hilarious. I love Twitter, but it’s also part of my job. I gather stories constantly for a daily news aggregate centered on creative writing and the publishing world, so I’m always reading, and Twitter is an amazing resource. I’m paid to use Twitter, but I’ve given myself over to it—not sure I can stop. It’s the first thing I reach for in the morning. I smoked for twenty years—I recognize the impulse.

On his motorcycle, Brin drove me to Pine Lake
to go diving. I gripped his waist, loosely afraid

of falling into the traffic on North Elm Street
or Randleman Road, where the cars were racing on

and off Interstate 40. Pine Lake was carved out
of a cow-pasture by bulldozers and filled from

a nearby swamp in 1952. On one side were rows
of small white houses with wire fences—our side