It was that burning sensation, the one that grabs hold at the base of your throat, and you cough as if that will help.
“We” being my generation—specifically those of us currently in college.
When I was in my junior year of high school, I wrote a piece for my end-of-the-year project in AP Language and Composition titled “Recipe.”
Near Grounds, a kind stranger offered flowers to anyone who wanted them.
I didn’t always think I had to eat.
This cycle's theme is food/cooking.
When I was a kid, Saturday mornings meant a breakfast of fried rice, a runny egg, and SPAM—a staple in our pantry growing up.
I scheduled my life around these substances while I was home in Houston; the amount of Netflix and fanfiction I consumed comprised a heaping portio
