1811 17 13
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No fear of that, / he assured her,
|
181154
|
Are you asleep? He says.
Wake up.
|
181152
|
‘Your hands are very clean’ she said to the furniture salesman. His name was Morrison. "After Jim" Morrison Pentworthy. His father specialized in Doors.
|
18112113
|
|
181173
|
I suppose the lazy trees would have a thing or two to say about love
|
181121
|
For ten minutes I would have to sit perfectly still on the edge of her bed, thinking of Road Runner and the Flash and wishing I could do anything but sit there with my feet in warm, foamy water.
|
181121
|
And it seemed that, just a little more—and the solution would be found, and then a new, beautiful life would begin; and it was clear to both of them that the end was still far off, and that the most complicated and difficult part was just beginning.
|
181163
|
circa the early 90s, Buzz Aldrin and my father had been invited to a dinner at someone's house on Bainbridge Island and gotten lost.
|
181111
|
I spent the whole day at Oliveira's, writing furiously in my notebooks. The words came pouring out. Just before seven, Darrell picked me up. I grew anxious driving down to Parker's studio because it was in a bad area on the border between Oakland
|
1811227
|
Men have a way of doing that, Lord, why? I always thought retirement means you get to sleep longer. Nope He must arise early, make breakfast, after 40 years of eating mine. Next, he insists on coming with me to the market. When I try to…
|
181064
|
Gorgonzola. It's what she was to bring this time. Plumtree's potted meat. What it was last time.
|
1810159
|
The violin hung on the wall after that, a witness.
|
18102718
|
. . . there is nothing so selfish as sleep.
|
1810168
|
The three of us traveled seven hours that day and Al traveled as far in the service of finding the right tool for his writing.
|
180920
|
the unhealthiness of obsession and control until the lines burn bright
|
180931
|
Dizzy but still alive
Inside this conversation
I ask if you have a sister
And if she'll know me
If I'm with you.
|
180962
|
1. Think up problems that don’t exist
2. Realize, suddenly, that they don’t exist
3. Elation
|
180962
|
Whoever came up with the term kismet is an absolute moron. There isn't a single reason, or word, that can describe what exactly my brain has concocted in the face of him. No, kismet isn't what makes it happen. It's my own stupidity..
|
180986
|
Years After she can go home.
|
180811
|
What? No, no, where did my world go? I was in the middle of… something. What's going on? What's stroking my face?
|
180872
|
He had long since quit listening to the incessant clanging of the bell. He stood, ringing the bell, squinting into the setting sun, nauseous from the car exhaust, his body aching for alcohol.
|
18081413
|
. . . clinging to life in a shroud of winter air. It veered up five flights to a sweltering summer night on the roof . . .
|
180843
|
On Day 1122 at 4:14 AM the door which has remained since installation firmly glued to the masonry behind opens and a man emerges blinking shielding his eyes against fine stinging snow.
|
1808115
|
After court, the three of us skipped third period, walked down to the river and huddled under the 6th Street Bridge.
|
180811
|
"Ah, finally the rain stopped pouring!" She opens the window to let the sticky air out of the house. The colours outside have changed. The air is clear and the sky turns into light pink while the sun is drowning at the horizon. She takes a deep breath. The…
|
18081712
|
Conceptio culpa
Nasci pena
Labor vita
Necesse mori
|
180732
|
In row nine, there was a lady on the window seat. Seeing the potential of space between us, I asked, “Mind if I take this one?”
“Not at all” she said as if she hadn't a friend in the world, apart from the poor bastard now sitting in seat 9D.
|
1807107
|
The first husband was young and lovely. He had a little nose and long fingers he used for things like planting begonias in my clay pot. I did not do flowers. So that was nice.
|
180732
|
The sand felt warm, the way it usually was on Saturday afternoons in Seaside Heights; face down on the beach under a hot July sun that burned my back and shoulders
|
18071710
|
Can you write a 250-word story without using the letter "e"?
Ruth's back is curving forwards, folding, softly caving into tomorrow.
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