Alphabetical stories

Y.

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We are the generation who tattoo our stories on our bodies, who pierce what appears impenetrable; we fly our scars like pennants.

Ya Ever Meet a Buckley? I Haven't.

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Who's that? I don't know. …

Ya Sure You Betcha (A Syttende Mai Challenge)

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Nora never dated Scandinavians.

yaaaay i got the job at deutsche bank!!!!! 5 people like this.

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you'll call it jealousy, but i promise youit's really not, because i wouldn't liketo have your life any more than i wouldmine. because really, i lead a life notunlike that of a housecat, knockingaround and getting spooked by closingdoors when i know nobody is in. what…

Yadda, Yadda, Yaddo

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I arrived at Yaddo, the prestigious artists’ retreat, in the summer of 1941. With America’s “day that will live in infamy” several months away, my own day of infamy began the second morning of my residency.

Yakkety-Yak

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Last night, the station played me a dream of sexual promiscuity that included -- but was not limited to -- imaginative acts involving....

Yalta Pas de Deux

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The Count was used to boredom but he had reached the point where he was even bored with boredom.

Yamoussoukro, 2012

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He is underneath them. His head is like the head of a worm.

yapping and laughing and living

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I can't take it bird by bird because I have neither.

Yard Man

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It seemed there should be more tongue, so I started more, getting closer, and disguising my interest as being personable and caring about the yard triangle.

Yeah Yeah I Will I Promise

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After we have sex I slip cash into your purse, just a few bucks, without you knowing. You're not a whore, but I'd like to buy you lunch sometime without having to be there.

Yeah, He's Stoned

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He’s so stoned he’s in the zen zone, Which is just beyond the end zone.

Yeah, yeah, it takes two

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I'm rushing from the office, wanting to catch the 6.05, skittering down grey, commuter-laden streets, and I turn into the plaza and see the stupid fucking dancing couple. They are usually only there Fridays and weekends, catching the tourists on their way into Covent…

Year End Close-out

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Strauss does all the stirring at the start./ The rest is all murk and meander

Year End Closeout

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At some point, indifference// will swallow the small gasps./ The appalling will become the norm.

Year End Closeout: Buy One, Get Seven Free.

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It’s not that cold but the cold that is/ penetrates layered cloth and soft skin/ to chill the blood in its capillaries

Year of the Microbes

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...

Yearning

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He’d've been up there belting out the hymns then bickering with the vicar after.

yearning for you

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beauty and love at first sight and this seemingly endless desire washes and cleans my soul and makes me feel weak

Years After

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Years After she can go home.

Years of Co-Dependency

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The next thing I knew, the waiter was pouring wine into all our glasses. “How did you know we needed more wine?” I asked. His face grew red as he smiled, “Many years of co-dependency, honey.”

Yellow

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Slipshod shoes were the first sign of a meltdown. Sometimes she could see it coming. A prickly gentleman washing his clothes on a Thursday afternoon. One week he’s fine. Nothing wrong with owning a sour face. The next Thursday, his shoes don’t match.

Yellow Cabaret

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Hail the yellow cab the yellow one will do just fine as second condiment to the sun

Yellow Dining Room (from The New Yorker)

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...you should pick a VERY OLD millionaire. Very old, and NOT VERY WELL...

Yellow Pages

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Yellow Pages season is on us now, and Jimmy's drivin' a contract route. He'll head out to the San Joaquin where they print, and load ‘em in the back of his Tundra with the high side walls until the whole damned rig sags low,

Yeopim Pork Men

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The trio stuffed their grilling equipment in a battered van and left for Dixieland Speedway at 4:30 am.

Yes Virginia, There is a Trustee in Bankruptcy

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“I thought bankruptcy was for people who didn’t have any money.” Skipper said. “Not exactly. It takes a lot of money to go broke,” I said, hoping to teach him an important lesson about thrift.

Yes You Can--Buy My Book of Bad Poetry

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America has given birth to many great poets--Walt Whitman, Emily Dickinson, Muhammad Ali--but why should talented people have all the fun?

Yes, A Dream

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...the completeness of pleasure tantamount to the end of all process...

Yes, the End Time Is Near

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We’ll just choke on all our shit