1598 9 9
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Requires one of those leaps.
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159843
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"Hey, man. All we represent to them, man, is somebody who needs a haircut."
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1598126
|
I looked around in my pantry but there were no sentences I felt like cooking.
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159821
|
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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159800
|
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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159852
|
He is sitting in his bedroom trying to decide what to wear. He has an appointment at five. If he wants to make it he has to either catch the bus, which comes in about fifteen minutes, or drive in. If he wants to drive in he needs to put petrol in his car,
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159832
|
Your grandmother has gotten old, in that way where one day you wake up, and you realize that someone you've been looking at your whole life suddenly looks different. That hands which used to gently place band-aids on scraped knees are…
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159841
|
The way she once felt for another, naked mornings in her bed, and Young Frankenstein. Sed-a-give.
|
159751
|
I can't find my way back to the library. I've heard of this happening, that if you leave even for just one day and for a very good reason, as good a reason as mine, you may not find your way back. Now why should this be so? I do not understand this library. It houses…
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159784
|
Our ink was disappearing. All of it.
|
159700
|
Dr. van Roos reminded the group that trauma is trauma...
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159740
|
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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15972013
|
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159765
|
Those who love aluminum bellies and landing gear and ailerons... that ilk... settled at the western edge of of LAX 24R 6L and called the encampment Flight Path.
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159711
|
By: Roz Warren (and Janet Golden)I'm a humor writer. My work appears in publications from The Funny Times to The New York Times. Janet is a history professor whose writing was confined to academic journals and the occasional op-ed. Driving back from the Jersey shore one…
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159674
|
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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159611
|
Only ever been twelve men on the moon. And one cheese.
|
15961513
|
San Bruno avenue, six shops in eight blocks. Those Vietnamese ladies thrive on the pedicure trade.
|
159682
|
Once, when he had been married for a year, she sent him a card which said, "If you have seen a cat smoke a pipe, you have got it made." There was an illustration of a big, black panther, standing up on its hind legs, smoking what looked like a big tub of
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15961811
|
It could be fun,/
with the guns, explosives, Molotov/
Cocktails and all,
|
159621
|
“What would you get? What should you give a lady who’s one hundred for her birthday?”
|
159653
|
They try to incorporate a little of Ravel around their edges, the ones where their molecules bump off into other parallel realities, into other non-localities, into other potentials. She isn't buying it. She's tuned in. And she can tell.
|
15961411
|
I visited the grave of Rimbaud. / It was pale blue
|
159665
|
She used her right breast. Lifted it to her chin, aimed at the can, and shoved it down as hard as she could.
|
159676
|
Uh oh, the dry cleaning ticket
|
1596106
|
Rarely is Quay Street so clean,
Monday in rain,
Neactain’s ticking over with
Slow jazz and crosswords,
Stout and steaming anoraks.
|
159632
|
my fingers vibrate magnetic/
a humming void/
where my brain was
|
159595
|
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
|
159531
|
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…
|
15951312
|
Grey would rather be in the trees or down by the river. When a wind comes up, he grabs the wooly blanket from the hook in the barn and calls Phoebe. They stretch the blanket out between them and sail into the grassy meadow that slopes down the hill from t
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