We walk to the Narrows from the boutique, fortified by talk of men and fashion. The Narrows is a blues bar known for outbreaks of small violence. I am wearing the winter white swing coat I bought for the wedding and the gold and turquoise beads.

I counted telephone poles and the seconds between them. The old highway cut straight through the sand and it seemed the road would never end. No curves. No hills. Just poles.

When thinking of the commotion surrounding Wall Street, the serious writer gets very upset.

I know he's an accident waiting to happen.

Mr. Dorn finishes the song and stands holding his penis, looking amazed, as if penises had just been invented and he'd been asked to try this one out for size.

Before I published anything in a literary magazine, I was rejected by literary magazines, dozens of them, and these rejections gave birth to one of my more strange and long-lived art projects.

Because she is waiting, seated on my hotel bed, making comments about my sonic white toothbrush being a vibrator, telling me she's bi, gorgeous with her poly-amorous discussion and long brown curling hair, with her fawn-like face and delicate breasts, wit

“Should I go over?” Ma asked, wishing she could freshen her lipstick while finger-combing her frosted hair. “Sarah, fagodsake, let the man eat in peace. No one wants to have his picture made with food in their mouth,” said Pa.

Amish-like, between the sheets.

While Kate practiced the piano in the tiny third-floor apartment, Wiley cooked dinner, jogging in place in front of the stove.

Joaquin Phoenix has inspired me to quit writing and purse my true lifelong passion.

We had them in our bunk beds in the trailer, before Becky fell and broke her neck.

Co-workers come in to pee or brush their teeth and the pump squeaks and from the stall, Ling says sorry…I'm sorry.

My first love was a woman of principle. Never deny your man was her motto.

In between, they love each other madly, fuck like the rare....