George Ferris Built a Wheel Inside My Amygdala

This is the panic: dread tunneling through your pores until it reaches your stomach and floats there like oil atop the Gulf of Mexico, a flush of your sweat glands followed by an obsessive thought process—that slow-moving Ferris wheel that tumbles into self-reassurances, then denial.



The following is the introduction to the Imagination Issue. “Visualize a parking space,” my grandmother would say from the other side of the bench seat in her dusty brown sedan as we circled the parking lot outside Publix, the noonday heat of the Tampa sun slowly roasting us. There was always a little bit of …