...to know they are not alone

Wile E. Coyote? A junkie strung out on bunk dope.

my love for you/ is like the falling snow

Conjure calamity and calamity comes.

“There is a fine line between love and hatred.” This was what his closest friend, Bob Sanders, had said to him many years ago. And it had finally and irrevocably proven to be so.

Meanwhile it was four o'clock in the morning, Pacific time. Seven o'clock eastern. The cat was busy chasing imaginary mice around the hammock—at least Manuel hoped the mice were imaginary. He loaded the next digital images onto the screen. It seemed to

Love me like a crutch Love me when I'm strong

In that time when the trunk was getting cleared out and when it became only the empty shell of what had once been so important, many things hit the match. She burned an old black negligee, a picture competing with the likes of a Vargas girl and other thin

and, once in a rare while,/ actual pearls.

I’m not / going to change you I /promise

Removing the deeply embedded jack-blade frommy naked side, like any slicked-upsplinter, was just a bit jarring on the first bite, on first try, I must admit. I freelydo so now to your frozen-over faces. You made your…

At last, we learn if Blow has the cojones to fight.

Esmée sat alone at a table on the terrace at Marina Jack’s in Sarasota. She had been there ten minutes and no waitress had approached her.

gravel coughing up tires at 90 miles an hour and just getting under way

He bites and imagines, numbed by want.