Karly Hartzman wries an essay about her breakup, yet having to record a love song. It’s full of lyricism and captures a certain feeling.
I filled my Marvin the Martian cup with tequila on our neighbors’ porch next door. While swaying on the wooden porch swing, I ate collard greens with pork-jowl bits that my bandmate Xandy brought to the party. I nursed several pieces of homemade cornbread.