Adam M. Bright

  • Everything Alright?

    It’s February. Eleven p.m. The air is cold, glittery, almost amniotically thick. There are all sorts of archetypal New York touches to the street scene outside: couples jaywalking, slabs of jury-rigged scaffolding over the…

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  • Call of Duty

    The voice couldn’t have come from anyone older than twelve. There was no rasp, no pubescent pitchiness. “I’m gonna rape again!” It took me a moment to connect the meaning of the words to…

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  • Here, Now

    We should begin with a confession: by most metrics, I’m a New Age nut. I have a life coach. I begin my day with an hour of yoga, then proceed to my morning journal,…

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