By Neda Ravandi The horse is very old and has dark eyes. I did not know it would be here when I arrived. It lives in a stable in the furthest corner of the farm, far beyond the guesthouse in dry, unweeded brush. It is summer here but still grows cold quickly in the evening. Sometimes I visit the horse after nightfall, when everybody else has fallen asleep. My bed is narrow and creaks when I rise. I keep the black rubber boots I was given next to my door. It gets very loud her

Revisiting the erotic thriller. By Neda Ravandi Illustration by Justin Chen In July I was obsessed with James Spader. Houston heat meant long, sun-soaked afternoons, which I’d spend on my bed, laptop open to a sketchy movie site when the humidity got too unbearable for tanning by the pool. So, my Halloween began in the summer, when I watched David Cronenberg’s Crash, a decision prompted not by an interest in cars or stomach-churning violence, but more so James Spader. After