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All I need is a place to getaway from the rush hour worldThe crazy crazy rush hour worldA place to hide from the rush hour worldMy nerves are shot from the rush hour worldIn need a place to dream from the rush hour worldMy nerves can't take voices of the rush hour worldCars…
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The timing could not have been worse.
Because of the heat building up over the weekend, my bathtub had cracked.
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We were so easy, so willing to be drained, that to start making those puffed-up stories about us now, our courage, etc. would be purely misleading. Put a bottle, or glass of wine in our hand, and our panties flew off, and gladly we would have followed y
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they say the sense of smell is the strongest sense connected to memory, but not for me
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Mitt looked at his one-time running mate and took a deep breath. He was beginning to think that throwing all of his money and belongings into the ocean and eloping to Key West with Paul Ryan was a bad idea. Paul had turned out to be more needy than a danc
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Most women simply don’t want damaged goods. That’s a fact I’ve been brought face to face with throughout my life. It's something you can continue crushing your brains against, like an impossibly high hurdle. At first you take the damage without unde
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Her body shivered from the liquid and she felt loose. Her mind relaxed and a veil of pink mist covered her body.
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“What the hell kind of name is Angel? Who were you with before, some little girl?”
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On beach trips with our families,
there were bumper cars, jet skis;
flash enjoyments,
beach-themed distractions.
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The broken car horn wailed for 40 days and 40 nights.
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No chance for Hallo, we sank into an unlit station doorway and he fumbled through my shorts.
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He sat behind her in Honors English, each day studying everything about her.......
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Kenya Williams, eight years old, was out of bed before anyone else in her family, even Grandpa. It was Easter Sunday. She had a mission of mercy to carry out. She dressed quietly and tiptoed past her mama’s bedroom. She dared not wake her new daddy, who w
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His lawyer, with looming, supermodel good looks, had a mild case of Tourette's. She would be talking to you and then there would be a little tic and her head would bob slightly to the left, and her eyes would go a little blank, and then this very strange
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On the day they were born, the old mother eagle named her chicks Faith, Hope, and Charity.
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A minute later, a shadow appeared across the left-hand page of the book.
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She took a deep breath. Last night, she said, Who was the woman?
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The way I felt was as though you were, every day, making the conscious and deliberate decision not to be with me, not to share your life with me—and not to share my life, that you were choosing not someone else, but something else.
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Sure, we'll look at the causes for the lack of smackers, but, really, if you had a Swiss bank account stuffed with dinero, you wouldn't care how much your spouse's sex-change operation costs or if your boss approved of your lunch-hour massages you receive
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They think because you are a writer you are not much of a listener and so you begin to recognize all of the great opportunities to be much more of a listener and then you shut your trap and get sucked into the whorls of her big wet brown eyes with Italianate…
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I have cherished the memory of that meal since and have sought out Indian restaurants all over the world. San later told me that the best Indian food was to be had in London
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Before you start reading this it is important that you understand that I know nothing about the evolution of horses or camels. I mean, I literally know zilch about which came first or if they are even part of the same family. In my head I imagine one of those charts…
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On Friday evenings they play Scrabble, a whole crowd of them. They use books to keep score, page numbers, instead of a long column of pencil scratches. They organize themselves into teams; the English majors all together, versus biology, history and horn players. She and he…
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The boy grew frightened when his grainy wooden skin began to melt, every fiber humming and softening.
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Every day she loves me a little less, and justifies it by saying that there is less of me to love.
At some crucial, overlooked space in our life together, I used up my compassion and started to spend hers.
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James had chosen to stay home.
It had been five years since he had missed the parade(then for fever), and he thought about it all now.
About the sickness and
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Roanne, just out of jail, went to cop. That is, she went to beg fat little Freddy the dopeman to front her once more. She'd have to fuck Freddy, of course, but, well, maybe he'd wait until after this time. Likely not…
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I'm a madman. People call me other stuff, but I'm a madman. My name is Roberto Nolasco Bahag-hari. Yeah, I know. It's kinda funny for a name. Friends sometimes call me RNB though I hate that freakin' music. Sometimes people…
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Whenever I hear Adam Sandler's song, “My Piece of Shit Car”, it brings back memories. Notice I don't say fond memories. It brings me back just like the really bad backwash regurgitation flavor…
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