But Jake doesn't hear anything. He is pure, unfiltered, liquid rage. Jake kicks Rolex dude once, twice, five times in the ribs. On the last kick, there is a snapping sound.

Her cash. It smelled like seven-dollar-a-quart gardenia perfume and cave aged cheese—like hope overgrown with mildew.

The man was happy, filled with it, the happiest he had ever been. He was so happy that he felt he did not deserve it and he deflated. A woman with apples for shoulders and an eep for a laugh told him that he did deserve to be happy and the man thought

1. Weeds of the World (Unite!) We invade the invaders and they invade us, these little Blooming weeds. They raise five flowers and let them blow Into the winds like sheets of stars. All of us Steer by their turning tide. All of us will eventually …

Cake is not the enemy.

“If Sir would observe, the storm welt, a shoe for the big occasion, a shoe that will guide sir through the dismal passages, a shoe that will roar in the face of adversity and …”

Shadows are so admirable in film noir less so on x-rays and mammograms

The universe will fuck you over in the end./ That’s what it does, what it’s good at—

it's the constant reminders of something that was never a constant remind her but i suppose there is no ticking clock on that which is wondrous and it was right right it's hard to come up with cleverly phrased universal truths and it's hard to make…

It was midnight. I was outside the cottage, digging another row of star-shaped holes for the shrubbery.

“Life is on life’s terms,” she told me once. Her arm, wrapped in clear cellophane, was freshly adorned with a green-pigmented sand-dollar: a living shell.

I will go to work in the morning and no one will stop me. I wish someone would stop me. I don’t know if my car will start in this cold. But if it does (it always does), I am going to drive to work.

a perfect afternoon

where are you now?

We can’t be sure. Perhaps it is/ some slight exaggeration of one/ or several elements that steals our breath.