1586 2 1
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Librarians love me,
you want to know why?
I don’t dog-ear pages,
I don’t even try.
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1586 0 0
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Dr. van Roos reminded the group that trauma is trauma...
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1586 1 1
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The dog was there before Vera was there, so she supposed she couldn't hate it too much. It wasn't like she had to live with the thing, either, though she might as well have hosted it in her ear for the eight months it took that particular batch of neighbo
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1586 13 8
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Every morning if I don't have to go potty....
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On a hot summer day in downtown San Francisco, a flasher gets more than he bargains for when the woman he flashed at a coffeehouse pulls out a gun.
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But what if it grew into a nasty tea party-ish bimbo right winger -- a little Michelle Bachmann nubbin?
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Afterward, at the motel, I asked her why she liked sex so much, and she said she liked the taste.
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1586 2 1
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Everybody knew it would happen. It didn’t happen exactly when or how they thought it would, but nonetheless it happened.
“I told you it would happen,” a bearded man told his wife.
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1586 0 0
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It was where the “Suits” worked. I didn’t want to go there, I didn’t want to be there, but in those days one did what one was supposed to do.
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1586 0 0
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Every time Hector left his home he wondered if it was for the last time. It was Monday at 2:45, so he was standing in the bedroom near the tall mirror, staring into his dark eyes. In the past, she would lovingly help him dress with her tiny, perfect fingers. She…
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1585 7 4
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Truman sits in his car on an early Tuesday morning. He rolls down both front windows down, but despite the infusion of fresh air, the car still smells of stale meat and sickness.
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Parsimony, Sage Advice, Alimony, and Time.
That would be one.
The Waste Land. The Hollow Men. The Red Wheelbarrow.
There are others,
But I have definite shoe anxiety dreams and can’t get over them.
Do not Go Gently Into That Good Night. Alone
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1585 3 1
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The world—the natural world—was terrible and beautiful in wartime. The leaves shuddered off trees. The pockmarked fields. The fallen brick chimneys. The way the birds heaved together in enormous flocks like rescue missions and then just as…
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1585 4 0
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I’m not the creative type like my friend Bosely, an Irish Setter. I’m a traditionalist. I like to eat exactly at 8:30 a.m. and 6 p.m. I take my bone with me everywhere I go. I will not carry the poop-bag.
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1585 4 4
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I arrived Sunday evening to a darkened house. Everything unplugged. Even the fuses from the breaker. Meticulous, this undoing. Silence has a sound. Cold has a voice, a pearly cigarette whisper. It says, “Metaphor?”
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1585 5 3
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Henry and I had met at the hospital. He'd been forty years my senior, but we'd been in for precisely the same reason: kidney stones.
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Not long ago, Owen the Second showed her a skull. He kept it in a brown cardboard box in the top of the closet. "My first wife," he said, and sneered, his lip bunching up around a scar just under his nose.
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1585 8 1
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As I watched her sleep, I saw gentle frost and sun on crystal.
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1585 5 4
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The night before leaving, we have French toast and red wine in Matthew's kitchen, our packs and sleeping bags and tents surrounding us, looming like golems. Because we're nervous, and a little drunk, the conversation inevitably turns to grammar. "I'm sure I learned…
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1585 0 0
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You are like gasoline on the fire of my desire–you send me higher and higher into paroxysms of earth-shaking erotic explosions. Remember–the “light” catfood is the kind in the turquoise bag.
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And she warms her hands on fresh-cut gizzards, And he forgets the taste of honeyed peaches
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1585 12 6
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The ghosts run before/
attacking horsemen. A heart/
is ruptured by a spear.
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1585 0 0
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I have two of those hand exercisers jamming the
tray and keeping it locked in place
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1584 5 3
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“Me try anything,” he says, then laughs a little. “You’re fucked.”
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1584 5 1
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I sat on the corner of her desk ... Angela Merkel can be a sweetie when she wants to be.
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Brazilian girls yammer
with their book bags
up against my leg.
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didn't know how to do it
just tried to squeeze on the teats
didn't know I had to grab up on the udder and pull
Unca Ole laughed
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...the knives she laid out on the porch before her husband left her, washed and dried, set neatly by copper pennies.
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