“The Passenger is the journal of a generation that doesn’t know if it’s a generation at all,” Passenger Editor-in-Chief Graham Webster, a junior at Northwestern University, wrote on the first page of the trial issue of the new literary magazine and nonprofit organization.
At Lulu’s Club Mardi Gras in downtown Washington, D.C. last Saturday morning, approximately 700 people waited for hours in the spring sunshine in the hopes of securing a place on the 17th season of MTV’s “The Real World.”
For just under 10 minutes, I had read aloud an inflammatory valedictory address that berated my high school in front of a gathering of hundreds, with a line of administrators staring at my back.
My brother once told me that there are only three types of people who ride Amtrak trains to North Carolina: indigent college kids like me, Southern psychos and convicts.
