1255 2 2
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Her wrinkles came into focus, the sort of old woman's face photographed for coffee tables and art galleries and corporate boardrooms, for prize juries and grant selection committees, and Luc searched his formidable memory for an exact match. Over the long, tedious…
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96700
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Frank sat next to her on the gurney and squeezed her hand. "You're going to be okay, Astrid. You're going to wake and it's going to be over and you're going to be okay."
"You don't know that," she said.
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101921
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This was before the cancer, years before. He did this every day: up at five, before Astrid and Max. Four cups of coffee in the machine. A bowl of granola. Five hundred words. Five hundred words no matter goddamn what. Five hundred words on Sunday and Chri
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85800
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He stood sopping in front of the mirror, dripping onto the limp puddle of clothing on the floor. He needed a haircut. He needed a shave. He needed to get rid of the two-fucking-inch white hair inside the helix of his right ear. He plucked it—and all the h
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115621
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‘Do I still ‘respect’ you? Ha! - there’s a sweet old-fashioned phrase! I don’t know, maybe not so much ...
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107300
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He can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe turns the handle can't breathe falls onto the front porch gasping in the cold night air. And Dad is lying on the smoldering carpet in the parlor. And all the kids are upstairs. And he swallows the air. And ever
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126711
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The drive back to Sac does nothing to sober me up, either, and although Avaline and I are ready to hurl, she takes me to her afternoon support group, “Lean On Me: A Place for Manic-Depressive and Bipolar Sufferers to Come Together.”
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144321
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This is why people go into work one day with a shotgun. This is why people turn to the masses and drink Kool-Aid. This is one of the reasons behind Chuck Palahnuik’s conceptualization of Project Mayhem.
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7200
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A girl drowned there. Hidden mouths sucked her under out of her narrow life, into the underworld. They repeatedly swam to her as she went to the bottom, singing sweetly in her ear, the fear, the dread, bearing the open bird of difficult light undersea.
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4100
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Greg Samson opened his eyes. He had never wanted morning so bad, since he had writhed and jerked all night with distressing dreams. Good morning, Georgetown. And yet, something was still not right. His feet and calves hung off the bed's end, and yet his h
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95721
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Happiness is the twin disobedience, to hear, to burn, to fret, desiring union. They shall touch flesh, bluish even, that elicited the happy city's sin. Why be silent? The untouchable nothing?
Let there be that place, a little swelling therein, which
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144001
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#1 MISCELLANEOUS NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
What kind of person would the author’s daughter, Gracie, become? That things didn’t look bright for her future was an understatement: Mother: alcoholic, dead at age 25 from puking her brains out; Father: m
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53674
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Those samizdat Gossip Girl books we used to read at Frotheringham Prep were far more titillating (remember those ‘Itty Bitty Booklites?’)
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17202611
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...there is something quite delicious about the air between people strange to each other, something that makes my skin crackle alive with the possibility of touch...
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122138
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“You’re my daughter and I love you but I don’t understand this. I can’t understand how you could walk away from your son.”
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