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. . . nor did mine eye apologize.
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Stories Around People An Event Facebook lived in midtown, for there the people and windows shone like water. Though it would board the bus—1 day—and ride to the sea, where people said words like sea and where the city shone in the waves…
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He was that famous actor—now famously forgotten—most renowned for his exits. He could burst through an in or out door with the best of them. Better than the best of them; he was the best of them. With the subtlety of his often noisy art he could…
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Do you want an ass mi Nina Bonita? I buy you jeans that work like a Miracle Bra for your behind.
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May 1890 Rifle, COLORADO Only pressure can change one thing into another. In terms of time, the…
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His grandmother's recipe called for the pasta dough to be beaten with a bone--and not just any bone either. It had to be a human femur. This was his first hurdle. Where would he get such a thing at this hour in this part of town? Or, for that matter, at any…
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I am always impressed with your intelligence.
I love watches. I'm not interested in time.
I am well read so talking to myself can be fun.
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A cruel panther gets its prey.
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There are problems we lovingly fashion . . .
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When I was young I used to carry a butcher knife to bed. My grandmother placed it in my small hands before tucking me in.
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Hideki likes the uncomfortable face one makes when trying to "break wind" after eating too many dried potatoes.
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On the fisherman boat, we were told to place the helpless firefly squids in our mouths. I watched cheeks light up like light bulbs and I wondered how barbarism could be so beautiful.
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The boy peered at the rather unusual place between the girl’s legs, which was entirely more complicated than a person might be given to believe should he see it, for example, bundled in underpants or a bathing suit.
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It was beautiful and bright and it felt so real.
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I’ve forgiven my mother; she didn’t know what she was doing. She heard voices, had visions. She imagined herself to be a prophet named Helen when her real name was Marge. When she learned she was pregnant with me she scored some Thalidomide from my gr
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When it started to really sink in that Audrey might never meet Mr. Right and that she may never have the rose garden wedding, the South Pacific honeymoon or silver Honda Odyssey replete with plump-cheeked kidlets snoozing in car seats, she got an eight-we
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My best friend Khaled’s idea was, he’d set up a pool tournament. Nine-ball. Each church would send a player, and whichever church won, he’d join. Any church that wouldn’t shoot pool, he wouldn’t want to join.
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I blinked the darkness out of my eyes and saw the man again; I could smell his breath. Just like dad’s. I must have fallen asleep. My eyes felt so heavy. I was cold. Why was I cold?
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To my right, blank stares interchange with closed eyelids on an unkempt face. The minutes drip into the endless sea of night outside the window, each time creating a deeper blackness.
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. . . hands before your face, heart without blood . . .
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He awoke with a start. This was not the first time he did so. He couldn't afford these occasional bouts of sleep. And certainly not in the land of the Tsantsa hunters.
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A surreal conversation in a library hints at something else.
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Justify your metamorphasis
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Maybelline Jones is my sister, my friend, and I try to tell her the right way to be.
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The last thing eleven year-old Alysia Perez remembered, she clenched her mother’s waist as they both turned to stone in the museum. When she opened her eyes, she was in a world of darkness.
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One of the runners was collecting bags of dead animals to bring back to the van. Nicholas looked inside one of the bags, but all he saw was a stringy mess of fur and tissue.
The runner grabbed the bag from Nicholas. He shrugged and said "hammers.
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I'm not dying. What is it called if you think you might have Hypochondria but you really don't? I'm worried that's what I have. Is it cold in here? Or is it me, dying?
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Even the stinging warmth of the Grey Goose wasn’t fun without Lisa whispering into his ear, telling him stupid little confessions that he would recite to her in singsong the day after. And she would beat her small fists against his chest solemnly with a
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She doesn’t answer. Ten minutes slide by unmolested in the anesthesia of cheap wine and resignation, the bouncers blurring and unblurring, the room dimming, quieting, the kaleidoscope of sundown giving way to the gentle sadness of candlelight.
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