Maybe tonight, maybe next week,/ maybe only in my waking dreams,/ I’ll teach another lesson-

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,

I want to be that daring gardener who ploughs up her front yard -- to the horror of the Neighborhood Association.

The javelin was cancelled after the unfortunate incident with Mrs Parker last year, but no one could have predicted this year’s sack race tragedy.

The thing was, though, she couldn’t shake the image of that dead dog she had found inside the black trash bag she thought could be first base, right before the twins said, Screw the game, let’s swing.

The Viper turns so quickly that Father's grabbing hand now faces its head instead of its tail.

While I was still new at Black & Twigg, shortly before Thanksgiving, Percy brought me a handwritten memo to type, the subject “Turkey Hunt,” addressed to all Black & Twigg employees in the San Francisco office from management. It said that the firm…

My ride, my good friend Morning was due any minute, but of course, he/she was always late. My costume was a dog. I was stuck to another dog, in the act of passion. A stuffed one. A basset hound. I said my name was Lightning.

“If they look that good in shorts.” I warned him once, in a candid, humorous moment, “Then they’re probably too young for you to look at.”

If you find the place they forgot to bomb send me a hot pink postcard. The planet is only so big. We're already dipping our heels into the waters without wanting to become true believers, miserable followers. The bedtime stories will have to…

On the way home, “Friendly honk,” he said.

Under the dirty orange glow of sodium streetlights, the glistening pavement looks slick, but it’s only just wet. The mid-November temperature is cool—quite mild, actually, for this late time of year—still hovering in the upper 30s—so far posing only the

this reaching, this striving to love like it's there becoming something we need.

Poppy de Witte was content to spend her summers in Cape Cod, where her family owned a small beach house considerably less stifling than their spacious apartment on Park Avenue.

This seems to be what happens to the Corporate Zombie Cowboys. They get eaten by their own Zombie Kings. The hardest part is I can see them coming, I am on the menu, and I cannot avoid them.