By Alice Lloyd
DESTROYED DRINKING
So, apparently, it’s the summer of the Aperol Spritz. It could always be worse. Six years ago was the summer of the cicada, when their buzzing bodies swarmed the east coast in an Old-Testament-style plague. Seven summers before that, everyone was reading E at Pray Love . The Son of Sam was a summer thing, too. We knew not what we did.
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American Consequences
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