2522 2 1
|
He was the kind of cat who began lifting weights in the fourth grade.
|
308000
|
She always told them that she had eaten earlier, that she had had a big lunch, that she wasn't hungry. "Leave me alone," she cried, running from the table to her room. This anger would burst out of her, so sudden and so total in its transformation--from t
|
144860
|
|
190320
|
I am alive, and I am hungry. Angry, I want more. I am not content with what you're offering me. Forty hours a week, two weeks vacation. A mortgage and car payments. Wife and kids, a dog in the suburbs. It's all incredibly unexciting, unsatisfying.
|
183522
|
He had no leg to stand on and so what could he do but fall down, which is exactly what he did.
|
105211
|
Writers, in general, enjoy the solitude that their profession allows, or more precisely, requires. I consider myself a member of that generalized group, along with a more exclusive club of writers who also tolerate an occasional…
|
78911
|
I'm not a practicing angel,
ladies and gentlemen
Got these penny wings
out of boredom
I need to know
that black and grey place
inside an angel
where you bow your head,
when a puppet
forgets himself,
when a man learns
how smal
|
107131
|
Dutton felt thwarted in his literary career, producing only the classic "Here I sit all broken-hearted, paid a nickel to crap and only farted" in a locker room stall at halftime of the 1963 Weedwacker Bowl.
|
142021
|
the little crummy salon that churned out little fat women with pinked curly hair
|
138711
|
But Jake doesn't hear anything. He is pure, unfiltered, liquid rage. Jake kicks Rolex dude once, twice, five times in the ribs. On the last kick, there is a snapping sound.
|
167621
|
She stepped into a pair of high heeled slippers and began to dance. She was Salome, a witch, dancing like the most beautiful, the most skilled whores of Paris.
|
98031
|
Interstice 1 Carved apart for Zion, set against a void,The wrecking dell of yet the Second War,Does Operation Hellstorm fill the floorOf still the firestormed ballroom? We forsworeOur filiality in killing you, and EidBells the invasion's consummation: and besideThe…
|
107711
|
I want to fly like a snail. Yes, snails fly in their minds, so does the brain of the ocean.
Does a man want to drown in the ersatz of desire?
You must understand me. You and I swam together. They call it escape velocity.
|
92631
|
He fingered his remaining chips and the usual nervousness tingled at his spine.
|
110321
|
The rhythm of my breathing
is a litany of regret.
|
91821
|
From the opening bars that conjure up the sounds of European auto horns, "Parisian Thoroughfare" is as light as French pastry, as free and airy as a skirt blown by the wind.
|
219620
|
I linger and pretend that I’m not there,
you find me in the end but I’ll not dare
to speak the words I only know to write.
|
63821
|
I hope you’re happy, she said. Fucker!
|
103311
|
|
119211
|
I like violence /
because they refused to pay at attention to me /
as a child.
|
114511
|
Jack Krackenthorpe, Director-General of MI-5, sat alone drinking tea in Lee Ho Fook, a third-rate Chinese restaurant in Soho a mile from his Curzon Street office.
|
124121
|
Wesley did not rob banks in Banning County. Wesley Roberts was the sheriff of Banning County; robbing its banks would have created a conflict of interest.
|
88311
|
ocean and hungermy two companions at saillike Madness and Beauty separated at birth
|
67621
|
I found you at Darrell’s, the bar down the street.
A place where loose women and tight men might meet.
|
105131
|
I pointed to the strange man. “Who’s this?” I said.
Ethan looked puzzled. “That’s a man with his head on fire.”
|
115021
|
—Hey, lover man, where’s my breakfast? said Monique, tousling Ben’s hair.
|
299531
|
It amazes me that with everything this woman has to be depressed about, what really gets her down is an inadequate lounge chair.
|
199531
|
There, at that cabin, she had first tasted the back of a hand in anger, the sting of a horsewhip, bone-deep fear and, finally, an unthinkable act of self defense.
|
104921
|
Where exactly is your head at, dude?
|
96721
|
Your left hand cups your balls which are drawn up tight under a turgid fireplug cock. Your right hovers over your temple, thumb cocked at the cheek. Your eyes are dreamy, mouth wry, chest and belly furry and fat. You're a picture in a file on my desktop on which…
|
