the color of money
If this is what happens when you finally get through your email, then I’m all for more of this Inbox Zero stuff from Merlin.
Today, I can’t handle currency, eat fresh peas, or walk on grass. Green is the color of my twisted terror, and it paints my dreams in endless verdant coats. Night after night after night.
If you haven’t read it, I won’t spoil it for you. But I can’t help thinking of it as a response to Eggers’ Max at Sea. (And, frankly, a much better response than Choire Sicha and Tom Scocca’s chat transcript riff at The Awl, as much as I loved Choire’s line “Wow, who’s Renata Adler now?” line, since it’s so far inside baseball as to be made of pure cushioned cork center.)