THE NEW YORKER
To put them in perspective, I think of
being on an airplane. The flight
attendant comes down the aisle with her
food cart and, eventually, parks it beside
my seat. “Can I interest you in the
chicken?” she asks. “Or would you prefer
the platter of shit with bits of broken
glass in it?”
To be undecided in this electionis to
pause for a moment and then ask how
the chicken is cooked.
— David Sedans
