I'm profoundly devoid of cool. I remember a poem about a suicidal dog, which began, 'Don't do it, dog.'


The Paris Review, The Art of Memoir No. 1, Issue 191, Winter 2009


I'm profoundly devoid of cool. I remember a poem about a suicidal dog, which began, 'Don't do it, dog.'

I'm profoundly devoid of cool. I remember a poem about a suicidal dog, which began, 'Don't do it, dog.'

I'm profoundly devoid of cool. I remember a poem about a suicidal dog, which began, 'Don't do it, dog.'

I'm profoundly devoid of cool. I remember a poem about a suicidal dog, which began, 'Don't do it, dog.'