1817 2 1
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Hollywood is the land of the slow no.
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1817 9 4
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Not many people like Geminis.
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1816 5 5
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The white faces of the train look up in an attempt to satisfy presumption, smoothing out any interest into glassy eyed gestures toward looking but lacking the very important quality of sight.
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1816 2 0
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Enid closes her bedroom door when she changes her clothes but leaves it ajar when she's doing her face; is she hoping some small talk might reach her dainty ears?
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1816 7 4
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1816 1 1
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The pear is a bruise. Feels like desperation in the light, it looks soft and blue. She wants to touch it and doesn’t want to. How the blood gathers under the blue and the body grows tender. Swells. Slowly.
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1816 18 11
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It could be fun,/
with the guns, explosives, Molotov/
Cocktails and all,
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1816 10 7
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Look at her. She doesn't want to be here. The kiss and “wouldn't miss it for the world” was as empty as her crossed arms, crossed legs, and jittery foot were loaded. She attacked the foam of her latte with a tiny red straw. I wanted to scream. Complain about the…
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1816 13 8
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A lifeboat came by in the night,
And I finally saw we were sinking.
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1816 1 1
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1815 0 0
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Dreams will show you a life that might or might not be yours, but you better believe that they've got to serve when you're asked to come up with a story."--Frank Baron, the night he made bail and left town1. First Blood in Dreams Long Ago The…
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1815 25 20
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I read my book of names. Over and over again. Our name appeared in the newspaper 254,991 times between 1896 and 1944.
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1815 0 0
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The sound of drums blared from down the street. Car horns tried to fight the sound. Mayumi and Keiko saw the size of the crowd walking past them increase.
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1815 3 3
|
Quimby’s eyes lit up. “Oh, lads, there must be a thousan’ ways to die at sea! I’ve made th’ Atlantic passage a good many time; lemme recount some manners of death I’ve witnessed with mine own eyes.”
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1815 7 5
|
Independence Day was a Thursday. Frank had been invited to join some Yale Art School classmates in Vermont for a three-day bacchanalia.
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1815 13 12
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1815 18 4
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Why is the sky grey he asked meI don't know, I saysudden flashes of light snowbloat the cloudssea gulls are squawkingexpect them to peck at my headI have nothing to feed them
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1815 5 5
|
This may be too religious for you, as at first it was so with me. But I assure you, on my scholarly integrity, I have found the Genesis Serpent’s skin! Yes, that Genesis Serpent--though just a leftover piece of him,
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1815 0 0
|
Do I feel good about any of that? Not really. But I seem to find myself asking over and over again, why should I care? That's something that's never happened before. But I'd be lying if I didn't say I kind of liked it.
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1814 5 5
|
Is it you with that fucking gold and platinum yacht?!?
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1814 4 4
|
The last of your tenuous septum dissolves when you press the nozzle of the neti pot against it.
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1814 3 3
|
Everyone was shocked when they heard Tinkerbelle was six days gone and had got so heavy she couldn't fly. Who could have done it, everyone asked, but Tinkerbelle wasn't telling. So no one knew. That isn't true. I knew, and in this Declaration I swear I will tell…
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1814 15 16
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He didn't hide it. He told her he was a mortician when he called. He had responded to her ad in the Lonely Hearts section of the newspaper.
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1814 5 3
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Sometime in the late 60s when I was thirteen I had this paper route for the San Mateo Times.
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1814 10 6
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Blending in at a rock concert in ballet flats was harder than I thought it would be. The heavy eye makeup and lit cigarette I never brought to my lips put me somewhere between “Trying Too Hard” and “Bless Her Heart.”
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1814 2 1
|
Cammie Richard's house was just like all the others in Wilchester. The exterior was vaguely reminiscent of the Dutch style; gray stone with cross beams of dark wood, with two stories and a bay window. Her yard was fertilizer green, with a giant STRATFORD FOOTBALL…
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1814 14 6
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There are lines//
across time, beyond the tug/
of elections and fashion,/
beyond the turbulence of history
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1813 5 4
|
It turns out I know a thing or two about momentum. I know, I know. Like the crescendo of your bicycle wheels. Like the force the florist put on the stems the day Linda died. The way my fingers spin between planetary mass. This is how I know I’m not real
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1813 10 2
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I had no portent this would occur, /
Ne'er did I see this happening, /
Not days before, nor those coming;
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1813 15 10
|
that guy/ MOSTLY understood / endings
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