It’s your first Thanksgiving away from your family. You’re one of the few people that stayed behind in the city. Because of this, most of us have handselected our own non-nuclear family consisting of voluntarily insane friends. But while we don’t crave the tradition of being grilled by our family members

I hate yams because they straddle the line between savory and sweet with such limp optimism. Your mouth hopes the yam will take it in some definitive direction but no. It never chooses.