2064 14 11
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She'd liked the name of the tanker. The Amoco Cadiz.
|
206300
|
A human cop and a cyborg detective team up to solve a case. A sci-fi-pulp-noir-detective story.
|
206373
|
see this:/ ink-stained paper/ littering miles
|
206322
|
The mother was happy, though. She was happy because she could make him some soup and then she could feed it to him in bed.
|
206301
|
meanings figure into traffic streams reds fade, trickle down the long ‘V' another passing human ear; tall, tall buildings paper poised on horizon. situations gape in and out of seconds corners turn to disappearance, witness follows fingers…
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2063218
|
I am standing in my neighbor’s back yard in my underwear, and my trash can is clean.
|
2063113
|
The impression old Updike left on a young mind.
|
206373
|
“There are no inhibitions in here,” the postman shouted, gesturing at the dance floor with his Marlboro Light, the glowing tip aimed at a woman in a taut skirt. Leaning far forward, her hands nearly touching the plywood floor, she planted her feet and beg
|
206271
|
In 1978, a computer program became privy to my grandmother's most secret thoughts.
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2062119
|
strumming on the pipe/blowing on the lute's body/drumming on the horn.
|
206200
|
The number 25 double-decker bus threads its way through the narrow two-lane streets. Coughing and burping without a hint of embarrassment, it carries us from the train station, with its cheerful round clockface and neat front of red brick, over the weepin
|
206166
|
As military tears soaked into hymnbook pages
|
206151
|
“What about the other groups coming here?” I ask. “Were they asked what they wanted in these houses?” She turns and looks at me, like I've suddenly come onto her radar.
|
2061101
|
Do you want an ass mi Nina Bonita? I buy you jeans that work like a Miracle Bra for your behind.
|
20611111
|
It’s like faith. My battle buddy is out there, I know it, but I can’t see him, nor can I hear him. I just know he’s there, trusting he’ll do what he’s supposed to do, and he’s trusting in me.
|
2061109
|
I ordered biscuits and gravy
at the Sunset Grill,
Just before the Amber Alert
|
206110
|
Morpheus dreams… […fairground atmosphere burlesque hand-operated steam organs calliopes cut and spliced reversed harmonium kaleidoscopic grotesque waltzing carousel…] PABLO FANQUE'S CIRCUS ROYAL Grandest Night of the Season! and positively the LAST NIGHT BUT THREE! being…
|
206043
|
I wriggled in the bed and felt the sheets soaked with perspiration. My arms were lined with tape and tubing, needles pressed in veins. I reached for the cloth again and again, and every time they stopped me. The hands that came were cold and hard, urgent
|
20601814
|
I become a lake, a river, a stream, an ocean that will one day be able to move anything, anyone.
|
2060167
|
it's the very words that are the problem
|
206022
|
And by God he made it to heaven! St. Peter waved him on in...
|
20601315
|
We wonder if this is how we tangled in our mother's womb: hands to feet to heart.
|
2060124
|
The fettuccine is a disaster. Mini-ants have invaded the container. Barry spots them in the boiling water after pouring in the pasta, not much more than floating black specks, but too many to ignore. He dumps out the pasta and returns to the closet to…
|
206044
|
Back arching, spine twisted, muscles tense and turning. I am putting off my work. Jane Eyre is in the back of my mind whispering about childhood patriarchy and I am still clinging to images from dreams before waking; my last lover's face scrunched and…
|
20601912
|
He held my little hand in his and guided it through the dirt.
|
205954
|
The tall, standing woman with bright red lipstick, elegant at one time, you could tell, responding, “She has dementia,” pointing at her brain. “She was a Holocaust survivor.”
And the one they’re talking about turns as she’s pushing her wal
|
205954
|
I would be reduced to begging on the streets and hoping for a sign of her in soup lines.
|
205952
|
My mate and I are owned, but have freedom to take to the endless sky.
|
205999
|
The last one I tipped over the edge was just like all the others: fragile, pale, humming to himself as he sat on the ledge overlooking the gardens.
|
205822
|
Patrick Savage, who has died aged 29, was a poker player fast on his way to becoming a cult figure in the music scene.
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