t felt surprisingly intimate standing among strangers while a writer read us a short story about finding a dismembered penis. This was in Baltimore, home to both John Waters and David Simon, thus making it the rare city where a story about a dismembered penis makes sense. Still, it was an unexpected place to find intimacy—at a local edition of the international crime-themed series Noir at the Bar, surrounded by disheveled writers I’d never met in person, listening to story after story detailing dark crimes or desperate, damned criminals.
But, my God, I felt at home.
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