Christopher Sebela

writer, wronger, rearranger

I levered to my feet and padded to the kitchen in my socks. I made coffee slowly, leaning against the counter. I’m already at work, I thought. Timewise, I am way ahead on my day.


I took the coffee to my desk. It didn’t actually feel that weird. Really okay, actually. Fuck parents, fuck having a real job. Maybe this is what we do.

— Austin Grossman, YOU

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