1876 17 10
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The leaves are telegrams sent from the branches to the wind, saying, “it's over stop don't send kisses stop forget me.”
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187600
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A human cop and a cyborg detective team up to solve a case. A sci-fi-pulp-noir-detective story.
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187630
|
Henry's had a messy day. He splashed, he jumped, he rolled and played. He wrote in books, dressed up the dog, And on the wall he drew a frog. He's wearing dinner, seconds too, And for dessert some fruity goo. It's come to live on…
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187665
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What doesn't kill you gives you great material.
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18763111
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They all looked for Vic's leg after the accident.
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18761815
|
Put sunscreen on your / bones.
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187654
|
“If you guys ever get back together, I’d make him sign a contract.”
I smiled, but cautioned, “Not sure that would work.”
She answered with emphatic confidence, “You haven’t seen how good I am at writing contracts!"
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18761411
|
I'm sure someone somewhere must havefelt something like it before. Imean I've never been able tohave this kind of deep longing asif you might want to forget everythingyou know. I always figured that funny stuff onlyhappened to folks in a foreignfilm. Not to some guy…
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187620
|
Someday they'll find me face-down in a puddle of ink.
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187583
|
“Would you consider renewing for the next season?”
“We’re not interested.”
“Can I ask you why?”
I considered my reply. I was thinking of mincing my words. The man on the other end of the line seemed, how should I put this, somewhat s
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187533
|
Hi, I'm Alexander Payne. I hate sex.
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18751611
|
I sit down next to a youngster on the couch. “Would you like to see?” she asks. “See what?” I reply....
|
187544
|
by the time he's moves onto knives, she has appeared in next door's window: sliver of nut-pale belly, fingers wet with suds, nails painted bright as glitterballs.
|
187576
|
The trouble with paper horses was not how flimsy they were when you were flying them, reigns in hand, high enough above the treetops that falling would mean more than a bruised knee.
|
187522
|
After sprouting boobs and a vagina before her sixteenth birthday, a girl watches her divorced father fall from parental grace by drinking ten tequila shots and baring it all for the neighbors to see on his birthday.
|
187522
|
1. The Walking Heart Attack Man has two outfits. In the summer he dresses in a short sleeve checkered button down shirt and high waisted Bermuda shorts with sandals. In the winter he wears dark pants and loafers with a gray corduroy coat…
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187491
|
Stupid's rising up, I see. Melting all the intellect. I before E, except after C, but that's not how the alphabet goes.
|
187411
|
This is the story of my friend, Gil
|
1874107
|
The first husband was young and lovely. He had a little nose and long fingers he used for things like planting begonias in my clay pot. I did not do flowers. So that was nice.
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187442
|
I saw God sobbing in a wheelchair
His legs didn't work and He had no hair
I saw God sobbing in a wheelchair
Nobody else was there
Nobody stopped to stare
Nobody seemed to care
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187498
|
They sat on the couch, and he tried to unbutton her buttons, but she fended him off.
|
187451
|
Leave your dog and your dog-eared lovers at the door. I smile at the bouncer, pay my ticket, and wink at a slasher chick. She gets pumped on heavy metal gods and Kwaito
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18741514
|
The mandatory is not / your friend
|
187420
|
Her mother told her once: "Don't be no whore, Fe-fe."
|
187464
|
Riding in a pick-up-truck,
the radio wailing
some 'love em and leave em" country song,
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18741313
|
My friend says there's some kind of bug that bites its mate's head off after they have sex.
|
187330
|
The first photo above shows plainly: five children dressed in suits and dresses. There are three girls. Each girl wears a yellow sundress with chiffon ribbons. The boys have been terrorizing them--the girls, not the dresses.
|
18731210
|
The coffins pile up gnawing dust on the glass panes to the rims of my binoculars. Shadowy cracks of stifling proportions, gliding over my eyes a requiem of mahogany. At dawn they heave between the workers’ hands, leave their resting places for a green tra
|
187321
|
“The Boy from Thuringia” is part of a series of stories collectively called The History of Adoption. In it, a middle-aged man sets out rather obsessively to write a comprehensive history of the adopted child. In his attempts to finally begin this im
|
187341
|
He lit my cigarette even though he didn't want me to smoke. Buying me drinks all night, he didn't complain, but he thought I drank too much.
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