Red Rot

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Marina Keegan on the opposite of loneliness

I read this essay by a 22-year old playwright who died in a car crash last year. She had just accepted a job at the New Yorker.

As a young writer who thinks about possibility and death, the death of possibility and even the possibility of death it was helpful for me to read this. 28 is still young. I'm trying to teach myself to build.

3:07 p.m. - 2013-06-04

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