A Harley careens toward a moose. The animal doesn’t move. The biker dies. And the fine Sherrif’s older daughter finds the whole thing sexy

These were her people, her tribe, the society she belonged to, fellow citizens. But something bothered her. Everyone smells awful, she said.

They walked proudly, arm in arm, a couple that looked very much in love. Are you still smiling? he asked. This is hard to keep up, she said

The kid walked up to me and I said, High five, and he stared at my hand. And started to cry. And now I was the awkward cultural imperialist.