In the last two weeks, I've lied to everyone who even casually inquired what I was up to for the holiday. I begged out of every kind invitation to Thanksgiving dinner that came my way. Using lies. Every time. I lied like a stinking rug. Last week, I turned down a Thanksgiving dinner invitation from my oldest friend, Tracey, telling her that I was going to Jim and Jeanine's house for football and supper. A day later, Jim called and I told him I was going to eat with my brother in Albany. In turn, I gave my brother, Pete, a bullshit story about how I was going to see my long-lost college teacher for the holiday. I told them all: Thank you. I'm good, good for the holiday. I'm covered. On Thursday, the tradition of solitary re-alliance continues. That's when I'll go down into the belly of the whale—the nearly empty casino—to spend the morning drinking coffee and playing low-stakes blackjack. |
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The brand doesn't really participate, but there's a loophole. |
| Big, brash, and full of swagger, the Rivian is proof that America can build a no-compromise, all-electric SUV. Plus, here are 11 more of the best new cars on the market—from the absurdly luxe to the totally practical. |
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We asked five of the most electric writers to fill a blank cocktail napkin with a story about Turkey Day. Their stories will break your heart, make you laugh, disturb you—you know, like most holidays. With so much material to mine, we asked five of the most electric writers around to contribute to this round of Napkin Fiction: Chuck Palahniuk, Meg Wolitzer, Daniel Lavery, Weike Wang, and Jacqueline Woodson. Each approached the assignment in their own signature style, and the results are a casserole of emotions. Their stories will break your heart, make you laugh, disturb you—you know, like most holidays. |
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Find out whether we're sticking with the Vertuo Pop+ or the VertuoPlus Deluxe. |
| For this fall's edition of Esquire's guide to lasting style and luxury, we're celebrating the art of escape. Or at least, getting out of town. |
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I go to Walmart that night and will sleep there every night. But the police will continue to come as if I'm some kind of one-man crime wave. Before I'm chased out of Westerly, I will meet, stand my ground, and lose ground to a dozen different officers, often at night, banging on my window and waking me just to ask, "Are you all right?" The question begins to sound like a pretense. The officers are civil, but every encounter causes me apprehension and stress. I'm innocent of any wrongdoing, but the interaction between a citizen and law enforcement is unbalanced by nature. They are part of an apparatus that can take away a person's freedom. I know it, and they certainly know it. When you're homeless, you are even more vulnerable. You have no place to go, no kitchen table to sit at while you drink your beer, invisible to them. You're always on their turf. |
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