658 9 8
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The soft couch encouraged recollection. Johnson faced upward and also his past.
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52252
|
What if, just before the taxi hits, a life passes before your eyes, but it's another life?
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21462019
|
A portrait of my sweetheart drawn while she is asleep: a passed-out angel illuminated by the light of dawn coming in from the bathroom window, one of her shoes missing.
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1434109
|
Sometimes, they beat their masters home...
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92797
|
The teacher tells her she is ignorant. She wasn’t always like this, she thinks.
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161486
|
Because it was almost like love, love. Because the potential for that innocence beckoned me, and I became reckless in search of it. I exposed my heart.
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3061312
|
Sometimes I had the right time and sometimes the right place, but never both. Standing before my boss, the two finally came together.
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280128
|
Time spent in incarceration is redundant. You start counting roaches scurrying across the floor and thinking of things like steaming broccoli. Making cheese out of hot curd. Legwarmers. Arms shipments to Jalalabad.
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9440
|
There was a writer who was said to suffer from some obscure insanity: so obscure that there were no records of it in the annals of medical history; so obscure that the doctors and psychiatrists were only able to diagnose him with suffering from himself.
|
105410
|
The giant stood up and scowled menacingly.
"WHAT! You don't think bigfoot is real?!" Big John's face seemed about ready to scowl in on itself.
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97511
|
It must be some sort of Freudian twist, but as her cold fingertips draw rings on my navel, I think of my mother. Here, her body watches my tongue, asking my lips to curl into the letters of her name. I can't get erect. I remember my mother's face—her eyes almost…
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117940
|
“I’m making a dress,” she said, feeding the pages through the sewing machine.
He didn’t know how to answer. “Are those my books?”
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3920
|
She fashioned a pair of smoky, mysterious eyes with eyeliner and shadow, and she applied a deep, dark shade of red lipstick, the same shade of red on the abdomen of a black widow spider.
|
84400
|
“I”, fuck it. I, I, I, I. It has always only been about me, this voice of mine, indivisibly me. selfishly and pompously. I shall not dispense with the false pleasantries other writers will offer, those writers that say, “Reader, look here, look at the…
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1426108
|
Do you think that’s a good idea, you said. Sure, I said, as the men coiled up the anaconda and put it in a second truck that had arrived. You don’t think anyone will wonder what our motives are?
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