By T.L. States
I once read a story by Lydia Davis about the crying people of the world and how they wept and bawled like little babies as they approached nap time, and how midday hunger struck them so hard that they snapped at their friends and turned their noses up at acquaintances who only meant well and wanted to break bread with them; when I read this story I laughed more than once, out loud, nearly spitting out my diet soda, but when I went to the Internet to tell all my friends about how funny a writer this Lydia Davis was and that she had written one of the most hysterical stories I had ever read, no one said anything and it was as if I were typing into a void, except this void was filled with my Internet friends that possibly weren’t my friends at all and maybe, I thought, they were reading my words about the hilarious Lydia Davis and they were snickering about the fool that doesn’t get serious literature, discussing amongst themselves how he, the fool, me, was probably the one crying, not knowing where the tears came from.
T.L. States lives with his family in Tucson, and his work can be found at HAD, Hobart, Back Patio.