John Early and Kate Berlant are standing in front of a bookcase in a quirkily painted (oranges, greens) top-floor, prewar apartment in the East Village, which Early has been renting for several months while he stars as an evil heterosexual in the Wallace Shawn play What We Did Before Our Moth Days. Early is trying to “just get a little bag together” before we depart; Berlant is studying the shelf intently, rattling off titles and asking for Early’s takes on the books, many of which he shipped from L.A. “Light Years?” she asks. “I read half of it a long time ago,” he says, searching for his laptop. “Remains of the Day?” she asks. “Never read it,” says Early, searching for his phone, his wallet, his keys. “Oh, you’ll die,” she says. “I want to reread.” She pauses. “I’m starting to read again tomorrow,” she declares. “Because I was good at the beginning of the year, and then I got back on Instagram, and it fucked my life.”
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