She’s at a party and wants to bite this guy’s cheek.

(from The Secret Society of Demolition Writers)

I don’t want to play favorites here at I Read A Short Story Hear Today, but I’m not against listing my favorites: Alice Munro, Kurt Vonnegut, George Saunders, Hannah Tinti, Wells Tower, used book stores, free books, fun stories, good reading music. Learned to get over my distaste for borrowed books. And of course, as I’ve said before, I’m a big fan of unreliable narrators. They make you feel like you’re in the driver’s seat, a little bit, because your mind has to wander and guess and explore to make sense of everything. But you’re also belted into the passenger seat, because the author is only taking you where she or he wants to.
This story’s got that, probably because our main character, whose desires and wandering thoughts provide most of the clues, is fond of the drink. Key details are unspoken. Unexplainable motives are stated matter-of-factly. You feel bad for her and the people around her. Short. Occasionally pretentious with all those Plath allusions. Cool.