1617 4 2
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Had I scoured all five boroughs of New York I couldn’t have found a more perfect imperfect object for my affections. Morgan was crazy as a loon, with the common sense of a mackerel and the emotional stability of a canary. But believing love could conquer
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16171812
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She had loved sleeping in Todd’s arms at night, hearing the soft tinkle of crystal above her when cool drafts moved through the house, his hand wandering over the swell of her belly.
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161700
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The corpse lay silently in his open casket. Dressed in the finest silken suit. Italian. Rubber skin pulled over his bones. Arms folded in eternal prayer.
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161741
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The boys finished their laps and returned to the center of the gym, Hamid shuffling up last, as usual. Amid the T-shirts and shorts, he wore faded blue slacks and a grubby, long sleeved dress shirt. He always dressed that way, even in gym class, as though
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161721
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I saw a former lover today, by complete accident.
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1616149
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“Mommy,” the voice was thin as a fledgling's. “I'm here, baby,” I said. An arm rose from the pavement and small fingers wound themselves into my…
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16161815
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We're not here for idle chit-chat, or ESPN, or fish tacos.
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161665
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Last night I spoke to the universeon your behalf. I don't know if anyone understood my plea, but I did it, I knew what I meant to say out loud, heard myself implore the great cosmic stuffing we're all fluffed out of to pleasejust give you a…
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161643
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Grace Gibbons is a way of life.
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161650
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Alone,we are ageless togetherin the heart of our precious now.A relentless wedge of image and vanity, gossip and innuendo, acceptable and most certainly not, dashes our agelessness intoan insurmountable chasm of years.That diabolically…
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161643
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I cannot read one more award winning novel by a female Asian author about the atrocities committed against their childhood, she thought. Then she sat down with her trusty yellow pad and Papermate fineline to write the next lyrical story of a female Asian writer and the…
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161601
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Lydia slid into the pool and rubbed lotion on the exposed areas of skin. She lathered her flipper arms. She lathered her sun-worn face. And she lathered her chest, rubbing some between her chubby breasts.
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161622
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Most people assume I’m gay, and have assumed I’m gay since I was in fifth grade. Maybe sooner. Maybe fifth grade is just my first memory of recognizing what other people believed true about me. But coming out as a gay man in 1987, when I was in fifth gra
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161682
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the dogneck gave no support
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1615127
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Emma and I were in a shabby part of town with vacant lots and overgrown yards, and I wondered if something would happen as we loped beside Tom, who was slow-witted and 21. We were 13 . . .
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161541
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I am a dog – four legs, a tail, a carefree enough manner, I do this, I do that, get into fights, sniff the ground and so on
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161531
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When it came time to sell the agency—when the papers came for him to sign—it was a very bad deal. But he did not cry. This was business. He had gambled and he had lost. He signed the papers without a hint of regret and even pried open a case of champa
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161552
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“It’s about basic working conditions!” she says, rubbing ice cubes on her nipples.
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161543
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What you may see initially could be only half the poem. The rest is hidden.
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16151615
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You might as well be the man on the moon. Once touching your face was quotidian. When I tallied each day's pleasures, you, in this room or that, counted too much for me, I think. I stopped record keeping. I'm …
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161511
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. . . hands before your face, heart without blood . . .
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161500
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The old mage said nothing. She did not even return the complement. All she had was disgust in her eyes as she looked at the grown men and women. To her they had no hearts.
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161598
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“As you do it unto the least of these so you do it unto me.” —Jesus These children that you murder are not your enemy. They are not your pain or your personal sorrow. They are, if anything, flowers blowing and …
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161511
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“I will become a respected novelist!” proclaimed Billy.
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161521
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Fleas were a constant reminder that humans are food.
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161481
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She had a strange name which I am ashamed/
To have forgotten, seven times, maybe nine,/
Her lips transgressors, wet with sourapple ...
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161453
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“No names,” she said. “I am the mysterious woman, and you are the handsome stranger.”
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161400
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He had forgotten what the culture was like in certain parts of the city. At the
lower end of Second Avenue, there lived an amalgam rare anywhere in the
world, save other pockets of Manhattan. Punks, hippies, gays, the homeless, and
artists of all strip
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16141616
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There were one hundred titles on the list. One hundred books that could neither be assigned nor put on a recommended reading list.
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161474
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She said he was missing the whole point: it was a decoration, not an actual pillow. You were supposed to place it somewhere artful.
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