63 4 4
|
Now I'm out of fuel and on the side of the road, walking into the darkened trees, smearing mud on myself. I live in the forest now, I'll make a weapon from a simple rock and prosper.
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13042
|
Unless you’ve been living under a rock these past five years, you’ve certainly heard of Patricia Little and the chocolate chip cookies that saved thousands. Nevertheless, let’s start from the beginning.
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6396
|
Something at play between the eyes and the mouth, a collaboration among the laugh-lines at the corners of each that signals the game is still afoot.
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4844
|
There is one particular dog, she's one of those hot dog ones, and fast too.
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15531
|
The first person to show up at the door is wearing a pink flamingo head with a fake bloody ax sticking out the side of it. I know something’s up. It’s the morning of November 1 and I’m not much in the mood for pranksters.
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136665
|
Our problems started with a few back and forth texts of emojis late one night. The next evening, a Friday, typically my poker night with the guys, my girlfriend came to the door.“You brought over pizza, how nice,” I said. “And, oh, gosh, look at that, a…
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87412
|
The world is always changing, even if it's in several eras at once.
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104532
|
One night he woke up with Underdog laying next to him, breathing softly. He marveled at how fiction could make reality so much better.
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101411
|
...the loving and very painful hurt of our daily sustenance
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84632
|
it felt fucking awesome at that moment, in that way only little things can feel huge and life affirming
|
7700
|
Outside we could see the winds bursting sharply through the trees. When an oak actually bends to one side, its bad...a normal person seeks shelter.
|
156501
|
Well, just put your hand on my knee, alone in my room, perv, unasked-and-unflirted for, go get a date, you coward, you limp-dicked male bitch . . .
|
42911
|
Retire to Malta. Die on an island that crumbled like an oversized Ozymandias. Hang your shorts to dry from a balcony on the Mediterranean. There were worse ways to go out. He had his boots on. He never wrote. He said he saw the futility in it now. Each of
|
80600
|
The day Eugene told me his secret he gave me a bouquet of lilies. Ice clung to the petals like fuzz. Sorry about the frost, he said. That was an accident.
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112800
|
it was one of those days, nostalgically bathed in technicolor, kodachrome and lost shades from a more vibrant distant past. squirrel jesus sat still
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