1560 21 10
|
He grew red-faced at her quiet words, "I'm pregnant."
|
156000
|
He said he'd searched in vain for his wife, Mary, before abandoning hope and the ship in one of the last row boats. He was allowed in because of his experience fishing.
|
15592114
|
|
155910
|
[WARNING: DO NOT OPEN UNTIL 'R XMAS!]
|
1559199
|
I remember the tan guinea pig, dead of dehydration. Through the wire bars of her cage I viewed her body. She lay stiff on her side, stretched out, as if in her guinea-pig dream she had been running through grassland, open and close to the sky.
|
155951
|
I remember the first time I saw her. I'd just pushed through the crowded bar and waited to place my order.
|
155912
|
She can tell you seven things she doesn’t love about her face.
|
155941
|
This bumble-bee been following me around all day. Ever since I woke up, it's been with me. I just now smacked it to the ground and then it crawled on my bag and flew up to me again, zooming all around me; it's frightening me, a little. Bee…
|
1559115
|
She wears a green and pink bikini and walks real slow, poking her chest out so people will notice her.
|
155822
|
Wee-wee-sweet-pea me? I live, I weep, a third of me passed in sleep, start a scene or two, play and dance the fool, …
|
1558228
|
"Ha ha!" I said triumphantly, "I've got some left and you don't!"
|
15582319
|
Alice writes three different versions of the letter. The last one is the most tempered, the most like her, but still it is such an unlike-her thing to do. The couple who lives above her has been disrupting her sleep nearly every night for the past three weeks. The woman's…
|
155800
|
The French 751 1/2 ounces of cognac1 ounce of lemon juice1 teaspoon of sugar6 ounces of champagne For the rest of that night, everything Mickey looked at appeared to have a halo of music, something nearly visible that he could almost …
|
155832
|
Out here in nearly nowhere I met this man. About him I know something something, and no one can tell me otherwise.
|
155872
|
He had long since quit listening to the incessant clanging of the bell. He stood, ringing the bell, squinting into the setting sun, nauseous from the car exhaust, his body aching for alcohol.
|
155861
|
Puberty, for Ellen, was less than an overnight event—yes, she got her period in a more or less timely fashion, but what her doctor referred to coolly as secondary sexual characteristics—namely, boobs—took their damned sweet time in coming.
|
1557117
|
"They called him a syllannibal: a person who eats his own words. The only words he ever ate, however, were the ones he had written."
|
155734
|
“Do you think she paints?”
“Her face, a little, But don’t you find her kind of bony?”
|
155771
|
We are not doing a good job of ignoring Pink Floyd.
|
1557189
|
She'd sit out on the back deck and dig into the skin around her toenails with a paring knife until it bled. He'd listen to a single aria of Opera's Greatest Hits, number 10, until the cusp of some feeling, either despair or rage, would build and fade. Then he'd start…
|
155699
|
Quite frankly you are ruining my life. / I know you don’t mean to, but you are.
|
155666
|
It drifted into the sea, I say, when you ask me about home. You’ve only known me for a few moments, so you’re not sure how to gauge me. You laugh, and make an Annabel Lee reference. The English teach in me wants to hug you. The New Jersey in me wants
|
15561412
|
...but still, when she whispers that going out now might put her in the mood later he unties from his mooring and sets them both drifting toward the gin-splintered latitudes
|
15561812
|
Go to your room. Children are meant to be seen not heard.
|
155684
|
None of us ever thought this would happen.
|
155696
|
A friend of mine recently died and went to Heaven, or so I innocently thought. It was only when I received a letter a month later postmarked “The Island of Final Regrets” that I realized he was still in transit.
|
155600
|
She's a nurse, plugging leaks, postponing via triage. I'm an engineer, watching essential systems shut down as my body buys extra minutes.
|
15551513
|
Poets who thrum jirble and thwack
Poets who thrum eat quorn with raw swamms
Poets who thrum are eristic (not shambolic)
Poets who thrum deliciate unto kench when they freck
|
15551712
|
|
15552618
|
Rothko explored horizons,/
blurring figure and ground/
by omitting the figure.
|
