Jason Isbell and The 400 Unit - Seven Mile Island
When I was born, the drug dealer who rented the top floor of my folks’ house brought down a gift — a pink nightgown with a scene from a romance comic screenprinted across the front. A blonde woman leaked some real dramatic, sloppy cartoon tears and a speech bubble read, “And there he was, the man of my dreams… in the arms of my secretary!” It was obviously stolen and sized to fit a twelve-year-old.
I don’t have any memories of the drug dealer who rented the top floor of my folks’ house because my father asked him to leave after the FBI showed up one afternoon, but somehow this nightgown, still in its packaging (because it was stolen), survived a move from Brooklyn to L.A., where it became one of my favorite things. I wore it to sleep every night and when it got too small for me, I cut the sleeves off and kept stuffing myself into it. It was the color of bubblegum and as soft as a safety blanket.
2 months ago