Wow! Justin Torres is a stunning writer. He came to mind today as I was thinking, “I need to re-read We The Animals and finally see the acclaimed indie translation of the book to film. Wonder what he is working on.”

Turns out his website has links to his previous writings which I have not read until now.

This is a gem... and don’t let the 3. at the beginning confuse you. Keep reading... you will come to understand.

This is brilliant.

I moved along the window-wall, polishing with ammonia and newspaper. I liked my reflection in the nighttime glass, the way my body was almost translucent, its outline and features only hinted at, and the way the city lights and the black-green hole of the Park were contained within, and spilling out of, me. The reflection of my white cotton underwear neared opacity, realness, and the gold chain with the gold feather glimmered. The man passed comment on all the usual parts of my body, but the unusual as well—my calves, the notch at the top of my spine. To comment is not necessarily to compliment, we were both aware.

I handed Nigel his scarf, which he had knitted himself, poorly. How proud he was of its garish colors and its holes and dropped stitches, the inelegance of it all. I had watched him from bed, many nights, knitting in the lamplight and playing records with our little fat, deaf cat on his lap, and I had thought him beautiful, soft, cozy; at the same time, there was the dust and the clutter and the cat hair, and always the same records, scratched in the same places, and I would ponder what made him so soft, and what he was so afraid of.

And then quite possibly my personal favorite:

The headlights caught a flash of sparkling eyes, some tiny faceless beast. Inside the car, the green light of the dashboard reflected off the soft white underside of Nigel’s chin. It looked as if the light were radiating from inside him, as if he had swallowed a fistful of emeralds.