No More Cookies
By Rebecca SchiffSeptember 19, 2017
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THIS WEEK Chelsea thinks she has colitis. Last week it was Lou Gehrig’s disease. She’s pre-med. She calls me every day from California to tell me her symptoms. She weeps about loose stools when her roommate is out of the room. Her roommate has a boyfriend, a bong, a Secret Service nickname. Nobody is kidnapping the roommate. Nobody is kidnapping Chelsea either, because she never leaves her room. Outside there are newspapers, cigar puns on the covers. Outside it’s 72 degrees, and there’s a World Bank protest at the campus center. There’s her father’s head sculpted in papier-mâché. Kids who will be lawyers in five years bang drums and kick a sack made of sand.
Bill heads back into his wing, but he’s still on all the TVs in mine.
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