Time to read this so I can fit in with my friends.

Holy shit

THIS STORY

Carver energy is off the charts.

WAIT A MINUTE. THIS IS IOWA CITY.

THE ENDING OF TWO MEN

HE SIMPLY WENT UNDER. HE DIED. I AM ALIVE.

WHAT THE FUCKKKKKK!!!! !DJKHSLKDHSDLK:HDS

You know. From all of the white people in my life who loved Denis Johnson, I assumed I would hate this. But Denis Johnson writes about MY PEOPLE, and I once again feel like white people make the worst advocates for their faves.

Like, all of the white boys who wore NorthFace and flannel and had lakehouses and who loved to talk about New Directions books loved Denis Johnson, so I just presumed when they said he wrote about "addicts and working class people," they meant like...in the way THEY did.

WHEN THEY GO INTO THE HOUSE TO STEAL THE COPPER FROM THE WIRES, I SCREAMED! My uncle once took me along to steal copper from wires in one of the abandoned houses in our neighborhood so he could buy dope.

I was like, "Ah, yes, the winter there were fires behind everyone's houses because no one had any money and so we stripped all the old trailers and burned the wires to get to the copper so we could sell it for scrap. Ah yes, memories."

Once again deceived by a white man's penchant for flannel and translated novellas.

Wild. I know these people. I grew up with these people. These people are my family and our community, lmfao, sksksksksk.

WHAT A BOOK. 10/10

Denis Johnson is topping off a Carver-shaped hole in my life that Mary Gaitskill filled in most of the way.