I held Raymond Carver at gunpoint. I didn’t know he’d be sitting in the kitchen when I busted into the apartment of my old creative writing professor, Gordon Lish. Carver gave me the face he makes on the back of What We Talk About When We Talk About Love: an eyebrow-raised smirk that said, “give me your best shot.” The 9mm in my sweaty hands grew heavier as he stared me down, holding a chicken wing. He wore a greasy wifebeater. This seemed like the place where guys called them wifebeaters. “Where’s Lish?” I said. I slammed the chamber of the gun back. Carver motioned with his wing. I swung around and there was Lish, also in a wifebeater, also holding a wing. He offered me a seat. “Seems like you’re the real deal, after all,” he chuckled.
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Julián Martinez loves Chicago so much, he’s marrying her.