Dear My Carbuncle:

Just a few days ago you were a humble subcutaneous zit. But that wasn’t enough for you. You wanted to break out! To see the sights! And so you became a monstrously obvious ruby eruption right between my eyes.

Welcome to the world, My Carbuncle.

I can’t help but wonder if you’ve reached your peak today, of all days, because you want to co-host Loudhailer at the Henry Art Gallery this evening. Would you like to emcee with me, My Carbuncle? Would you like to meet esteemed writers like Jonathan Raban, Matt Briggs, and John Olson, who will be reading stories regarding Philip Larkin, earwigs, and anxiety, respectively?

Would you like to help me introduce less-esteemed writers like Christopher Frizzelle, Charles Mudede, Annie Wagner, and Jen Graves, who will be delivering footnotes on the more-esteemed writers’ readings? Are you just here to upstage me?

Would you like your own microphone, My Carbuncle? What can I do to make you happy today, of all days, midway on your journey between nothing and nothing?