/lit/ - Literature

>>21964240
>The rep accepted his explanation but when the order didn’t ship as soon as Anthony had hoped he wrote again to see what was taking so long. His package arrived a few days later.

>On April 7, 2011, Anthony went for a run and then joined my father, Edward, and sister, Anna, while they ate lunch. They talked about “Anna Karenina,” which Anthony was reading, and Ukraine, where Anna and her husband had just vacationed. Anthony was acting erratic, Anna said, getting up several times and returning with piles of papers. After lunch he went outside. “He was doing leaps on the lawn,” my mother said. “I mean, a type of activity that I've never seen him do. Just balletic. Just leaping up into the air very gracefully.”

>“He's feeling lighthearted again,” she thought.
>“Things are going to be fine. It's been a really rough winter.”

>Anthony was in medical school at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia and he had plans to drive down and see a string quartet that evening with his girlfriend. As the afternoon advanced, Anthony kept changing his mind about whether to go. Eventually he took some sandwiches our mother prepared and abruptly drove off. Our father stayed around the house and Anna and my mother headed separately into Manhattan. Sometime that afternoon, Anthony texted his date, “In jersey but there’s a lot of traffic” and then “Really not moving :(. Will keep you posted.” He returned home and climbed upstairs to a flat section of the roof.

>Standing in the gray spring light, he photographed himself with his phone. He’s wearing a sweater over a sky blue oxford shirt. One picture frames him in a lower corner gripping his hair, looking up at the camera. He’s wearing thin-framed glasses and a few days’ worth of beard. He is handsome; the picture could be a fashion ad. In another shot, he stares directly at the camera, head tilted slightly, lips closed.

>After Anthony took the poison, my father heard a thump from downstairs and found Anthony in spasms on the roof next to a volume of Shakespeare and a pack of Gauloises cigarettes. He didn’t leave a note.

>>18633498
>The rep accepted his explanation but when the order didn’t ship as soon as Anthony had hoped he wrote again to see what was taking so long. His package arrived a few days later.

>On April 7, 2011, Anthony went for a run and then joined my father, Edward, and sister, Anna, while they ate lunch. They talked about “Anna Karenina,” which Anthony was reading, and Ukraine, where Anna and her husband had just vacationed. Anthony was acting erratic, Anna said, getting up several times and returning with piles of papers. After lunch he went outside. “He was doing leaps on the lawn,” my mother said. “I mean, a type of activity that I've never seen him do. Just balletic. Just leaping up into the air very gracefully.”

>“He's feeling lighthearted again,” she thought.
>“Things are going to be fine. It's been a really rough winter.”

>Anthony was in medical school at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia and he had plans to drive down and see a string quartet that evening with his girlfriend. As the afternoon advanced, Anthony kept changing his mind about whether to go. Eventually he took some sandwiches our mother prepared and abruptly drove off. Our father stayed around the house and Anna and my mother headed separately into Manhattan. Sometime that afternoon, Anthony texted his date, “In jersey but there’s a lot of traffic” and then “Really not moving :(. Will keep you posted.” He returned home and climbed upstairs to a flat section of the roof.

>Standing in the gray spring light, he photographed himself with his phone. He’s wearing a sweater over a sky blue oxford shirt. One picture frames him in a lower corner gripping his hair, looking up at the camera. He’s wearing thin-framed glasses and a few days’ worth of beard. He is handsome; the picture could be a fashion ad. In another shot, he stares directly at the camera, head tilted slightly, lips closed.

>After Anthony took the poison, my father heard a thump from downstairs and found Anthony in spasms on the roof next to a volume of Shakespeare and a pack of Gauloises cigarettes. He didn’t leave a note.

>The rep accepted his explanation but when the order didn’t ship as soon as Anthony had hoped he wrote again to see what was taking so long. His package arrived a few days later.

>On April 7, 2011, Anthony went for a run and then joined my father, Edward, and sister, Anna, while they ate lunch. They talked about “Anna Karenina,” which Anthony was reading, and Ukraine, where Anna and her husband had just vacationed. Anthony was acting erratic, Anna said, getting up several times and returning with piles of papers. After lunch he went outside. “He was doing leaps on the lawn,” my mother said. “I mean, a type of activity that I've never seen him do. Just balletic. Just leaping up into the air very gracefully.”

>“He's feeling lighthearted again,” she thought.
>“Things are going to be fine. It's been a really rough winter.”

>Anthony was in medical school at the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia and he had plans to drive down and see a string quartet that evening with his girlfriend. As the afternoon advanced, Anthony kept changing his mind about whether to go. Eventually he took some sandwiches our mother prepared and abruptly drove off. Our father stayed around the house and Anna and my mother headed separately into Manhattan. Sometime that afternoon, Anthony texted his date, “In jersey but there’s a lot of traffic” and then “Really not moving :(. Will keep you posted.” He returned home and climbed upstairs to a flat section of the roof.

>Standing in the gray spring light, he photographed himself with his phone. He’s wearing a sweater over a sky blue oxford shirt. One picture frames him in a lower corner gripping his hair, looking up at the camera. He’s wearing thin-framed glasses and a few days’ worth of beard. He is handsome; the picture could be a fashion ad. In another shot, he stares directly at the camera, head tilted slightly, lips closed.

>After Anthony took the poison, my father heard a thump from downstairs and found Anthony in spasms on the roof next to a volume of Shakespeare and a pack of Gauloises cigarettes. He didn’t leave a note.