So I have returned to Miranda July’s 2007 collection of short stories, in anticipation of her new film, The Future, coming out, and because she’s all over Union Square right now in an interactive, imposing-art-on-the-landscape way that is Deitch Projects’ last swan song before L.A. and museums happen and an era ends. It’s doing me quite right.

Anyways, here is an excerpt (the old fash typing way), because WHY NOT. This bit is from “Something that Needs Nothing,” which was published in the NY’er but is criminally unavails as of yet online.

I went to the bathroom and threw handfuls of water on my face, and it was easy. In fact, I could do anything. I took off the jeans and T-shirt I had been sleeping in. Naked, I crouched on the floor and sliced the legs off my pants with a box cutter. I put them on and they were itty-bitty. Itty-bitty teeny-tiny. I sawed through the T-shirt, leaving IF YOU LOVE JAZZ on the floor. HONK barely covered my small breasts, but hey. Hey, I was leaving the apartment. I was walking down the hall, and there was a small basket of old apples in front of a neighbor’s door with a sign that said, FOR MY NEIGHBORS PLEASE TAKE ONE. And hey, I was starving. I took an apple and the door swung open. I had never really seen this neighbor, but now I could see that she was a junkie. An old junkie. And she was wearing a sweater that I knew she had found in the hallway. It was Kate’s cardigan. She told me to take another one, and then she asked for a hug. I hugged her hard with an apple in each hand. Last week, I would have been afraid to touch her, but now I knew that I could do anything.

I had no money for the bus, so I walked. It was an incredible distance. A horse would get tired galloping there. When birds flew there, it was called migration. But it wasn’t difficult, it just took time. It was a new experience to walk across the city in tiny shorts and a half-shirt that said HONK. People honked without even seeing the shirt. I often felt that I would be shot in the back with an arrow or a gun, but this didn’t happen. The world wasn’t safer than I had thought; on the contrary, it was so dangerous that my practically naked self fit right in, like a car crash, it happened every day.