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

A human cop and a cyborg detective team up to solve a case. A sci-fi-pulp-noir-detective story.

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

We wonder if this is how we tangled in our mother's womb: hands to feet to heart.

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

“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.

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.

At dinner in Marrakech, Namid danced on the table, waving a white napkin, propelled by jetlag and poor judgment.

And by God he made it to heaven! St. Peter waved him on in...

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…

I ordered biscuits and gravy at the Sunset Grill, Just before the Amber Alert

Being simple like this, knowing a thing is done by doing.

Patrick Savage, who has died aged 29, was a poker player fast on his way to becoming a cult figure in the music scene.

As military tears soaked into hymnbook pages