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"i'll have to just tell her, i guess," he said. "just up and say it, get it over with: baby, they ain't no christmas. and don’t give me no lip about it."
he wiped his face top to bottom, the saddest gesture i'd ever seen.
then he walked off into the side-blowing snow.
i was sad yet happy. i was drunk. i was deeply, deeply glad i wasn't him.
- george saunders, "chicago christmas, 1984," new yorker december 22, 2003
posted December 27, 2003 in print