My favorite was a red bowler, a man's hat, which I never dared wear outside my tiny bedroom. My three brothers wanted it too much to take that kind of a risk. They'd poke me with various sharp objects: the serrated edge of the bread knife, the rusted TV

She called it phantom energy. She said it was costing us money every month. A few cents here and there, sure, but it all added up.

She's having trouble remembering the names of things.

“Eat up, little brother” Jack called out from his end of the table. “The food will make your blood dance. It will be eager to mix with Helen’s.”

I sat in the kitchen with the phone in my hand. The phone had just stopped ringing. When it rang, its screen lit up with the face of the caller. It vibrated and played a tune called "Dusk 2 Dawn." Now the kitchen was silent.

That was really the problem with leaving. She had to leave everything, could take none of the perfection with her. Anything she took would’ve been too little, or too much, once removed. Once not in his house, not in his vision or touch, the magic would

Angelina Jolie, seducer of Brad Pitt, tattooed mother of rescued orphans, and the unlikely daughter of Jon Voight who broke Billy Bob Thornton's heart, is only two blocks from me, in a travel trailer on Seventh Street, gently rousing herself from sleep.

"I made up my mind then, in the backseat, sucking on a cherry Popsicle, that I wanted to be like Ruby’s mother..."

Donnie remembers just in time. So we run practically every stop sign and red light in town, and get there just before they close.

The man that had been in the driver's seat approached. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he said.

My father-in-law is drunk. This is something only my husband and I know: the old man does not stagger or flail, he is not vacant; neither too-friendly nor hostile to the woman who shows us to a table and sets down three bundles of silverware wrapped in paper…

She was proud of her breasts, which were large, adult size. I didn't have any breasts yet, but the doctor said not to worry.

So I says,

There was a time when she could quell the loathing that Fred inspired in her. She could force it down. Back then, for instance, when they’d been in counseling, the ball of hatred had only been a little, overripe orange - squishy and occasionally mushed

Larry lies on top of her, he kisses her, his lips, she thinks, are dry, but she prefers dry to wet because overly wet in the mouth is never a good thing.