New York Times
Emily Dickinson got on the A Train. I was sitting there, minding my business. Just minding my business. She sat down next to me and opened up the New York Times. She was taking up too much room. I was making a note of how unladylike this behavior was. Ridiculous conduct, I thought, opening my own copy of the New York Times. Emily Dickinson closed her copy of the New York Times and looked at me. I closed my New York Times. She opened hers. I didn't know what to do, so I threw my copy of the New York Times at a guy and hit him in the face. Emily Dickinson frowned at me with the greatest disdain. I got off at some stop or another and she followed me. I ran for my life. That was the end of it.
What can I tell you about Emily Dickinson that hasn't already been speculated by contemporary feminist theorists?