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My wife is an angel.
When I was a kid, that’s what we believed dead people were. Sitting on a cloud with a halo and a harp. We learned it from cartoons, but I think I’ve heard angels are supposed to be their own order, like
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Dog time is water. Incidents bob near the surface, fall into whirlpools, sink or drift with the flow.
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He boasts of administering regular beatings to his wife and claims that she enjoyed it.
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I’ve lost interest in the limelight since I’ve come to understand that I’m not meant to be in it. We walk past the Porker Palace and see crowds of the rich with piles of pig in their hands, stacks of pork piled up on their plates as they swirl amo
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On Terry’s eighteenth birthday (the summer of 1966, the same year you graduated from high school, and the year I broke up with Sharon) I took Terry out to Fox River on my dad's ski boat, and opened up my robe and showed her all there was to show of myse
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I accidentally opened the glove compartment and stumbled upon his snub-nose .38 caliber. He saw me looking at it and smirked. “Protection,” he said, picking his teeth with a wooden toothpick after lunch. “In my line of business, you hafta have it.”
“Wh
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Saul Lies, 33 and uneager to lift his head off of the hair grease stained pillowcase that absorbed his mental anguish most nights, stayed in bed past noon
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"Excuse me. I believe you have a little something falling from your right nostril there," he said, pointing with his pinky.
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At the TV station across the street two sports team mascots are dancing and miming for the cameras. There are some young men wearing baseball caps at the viewing window simulating sex acts for the cameras.
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My sister Janis called me from Berlin and said to turn on the news. You could see the thick flurries of snow that were falling there and the flat feathers of peoples' breaths issuing from their mouths as they took turns swinging pick-axes, standing on top
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While you sleep, I wait for you to die.
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Well, I can tell you this much. The balance of my illusions about the underlying nature of mankind grew into grave doubts the day my brother was shot dead by a revenge-seeking Lebanese investor during a business failure bankruptcy in Southern California
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They were overweight, diabetic, and trapped in a cellphone dead zone.
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The difficulty of disabled parenting was predictable,
but nothing could prepare me
for having to say goodbye to my wife again
on problem #7.
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If the pen travels over a sheet of paper, it is not long before a metaphor appears. A fast, beautiful metaphor like friendship, or deformity. Think of the pen as a penis and the ink as semen. I just sit and laugh. Time impregnates an opportunity and a lon
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In the LOL playground environment of Facebook, one man's world is turned upside down when a new female friend suddenly blocks him from any further communication.From Chap.1: "I kept thinking there was something familiar about you, and now I remember."
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the impression I had gotten of him was that he was fifty percent yuppie and fifty percent drug dealer from Marin.
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The scared woman, she hides her flaws from the world.
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Left, I see parkland and cyclists and sun. Right: picnic blankets, naked men and lunchtime assignations.
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It’s the audacious testicle dancing in its theater, isn’t it? Carrying the legendary names. The bad blood, the jealousy the heart retains, living again under its skin, rarely enlivened by one of its own.
There was enough angel in you that we would g
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Touch the wrong thing and everything will crash down around you. This was the fatherly advice Warren bestowed upon me as we entered his Miami apartment.
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On my way to the creative writing class the next week, I decided that, despite the canonical immortalization of ‘Virginia’ the nineteen-year-old nymph, I didn’t like his story. What was I going to say? Did he expect me to fuck him now? My hands grew sweat
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1,919 followers in 105 countries come to this site every day looking for breaking news on the number of white kittens promoters are required to provide Mariah Carey at each concert.
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...something darkly malevolent looming above him...
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A cruel panther gets its prey.
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The cabin has windows all around, like ribbon tying a birthday present.
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“The Boy from Thuringia” is part of a series of stories collectively called The History of Adoption. In it, a middle-aged man sets out rather obsessively to write a comprehensive history of the adopted child. In his attempts to finally begin this im
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Details may be missing from our lives, but you can fill them in any time you want. Fill up the cup again with me. Come in and be warm, anytime you want. Wine, women, song, whatever. I sat on the curb once, in Mexico, saying, “Give me your salads, your o
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