I’ve read GQ since high school, and even worked on an issue in spring 2012. Yet just this week I discovered award-winning journalist John Jeremiah Sullivan from a link of a link to Harvard’s Nieman Storyboard. So I read some Sullivan. Below you’ll find a sentence that strikes as me as so pretty–and purposeful–that I’m absent an adequate simile with which to compare its beauty. Thankfully, I don’t have to. Let’s just say sentences like these are what keep me reading, and fuel my sense of inadequacy as a writer. So enjoy it. The story is called “The Final Comeback of Axl Rose,” from the September 2006 issue of GQ. This is an excerpt from Sullivan’s impressions of a concert at Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City.

Read the whole story; it’s fucking good. 

And while I cannot say he is dancing as well tonight as he used to, that so fluidly are his heels gliding out and away from his center they look each to have been tapped with a wand that absolved them of resistance and weight, and although he does at particular moments remind one of one’s wasted uncle trying to “do his Axl Rose” after a Super Bowl party, he is nevertheless acquitting himself honorably.

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