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Rachael Garner/Senior Staff

Where are the women?

By Sindhu Ravuri

D ammit, 45 minutes late again. That means I’ll get the cramped elevator for sure. If one more old man stares at my boobs I swear — “Namaste, madam.” “Namaste, sirji, how are you?” “Very good, thank you madam. Where shall I drive you today?” “The Secretariat — but I’m
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Rachael Garner/Senior Staff

“Give that bowl a shake” at Eatsa

By Tess Hanson

Though the ritual of scanning credit cards into iPads, scrolling through menu options on a screen instead of on paper and placing an order on technology is the new normal, at Eatsa, a new high-tech quinoa restaurant on Telegraph Avenue, customer questions on how to navigate their humanless front-of-house interface
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Rachael Garner/File

Personal essay: the “In-Betweeners”

By Ericka Shin

“Y“ou can tell who’s a dancer by what they’re wearing,” declared my Adidas track pants-clad, incredibly agile friend as we sat in front of the studio on the second floor of Eshleman Hall, gazing out onto Lower Sproul. Lower Sproul after 6 p.m, in between the consolidation of dance teams
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Willow Yang/Senior Staff

Short story: Maru 2.0

By Jihoon Park

Maru 2.0 was not a normal dog. It couldn’t walk very fast, as its legs were all mechanical. They were only capable of slowly rotating on gears and hinges. Not only were its legs mechanical, but its heart and liver and spleen and bones and muscles and intestines and lungs
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Caragh Mcerlean/Staff

Notes from my sketchbook

By Weekender Editors

I use sketching as an outlet for creativity, and so I don’t doodle all over my homework. I like drawing portraits because of all the unique ways people can look. For my, drawing is a form of therapy after all of my classes.” -Caragh McErlean Drawings by Caragh McErlean  
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Franchesca Spektor/Staff

Poetry: “Callous”

By Logan Goldberg

Unswathed by ends I begin to drink in My desperate strolls past beer-battered bums Whose outcast hands, blackened with grime, match mine Which likewise are black with ink from the news That isn’t news when life gets old, and beer Is all that’s left to drink in from it.  
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Loryn Cook/Courtesy

Frat stars with briefcases

By Elizabeth Gordon

After wiping the crust from my eyes, the vague outline of my body rolled up in various fleece blankets appears staring back at me from my sliding mirror doors — you know, the really cheap kind with peeling gold lining that haven’t been replaced since 1972 and are blatantly unforgiving.
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Imad Pasha, Weekender EditorMolly Nolan, Assistant EditorDesigned by Jill WongDeveloped by Taylor Money