" At the poetry readings Warren hosts for his job every few weeks, I swill plastic cups of vinegary white wine and yammer like somebody pulled a string on my neck till the library lights get turned off. After one such event, Warren drives home with his jawline flexing. What? What’s the matter? I ask. Do you have to stay till the last drop is drunk? he says. His sole mention of my drinking, as I recall. "

― Mary Karr , Lit