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At one time, my father's smile was as wide as a lakebed. It was tight-lipped, but soft, as he held me in his arms as a baby. I was swaddled in a mint green blanket that would later become my comfort on nights when thunder roared…
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158084
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“I wanted coffee, not art. That’s why I came here, and the coffee here isn’t even that good. We should have gone to the place across town, their lattes are the best.”
“How do you determine the best coffee? Do you think they have judges that go from sto
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122352
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He is sitting in his bedroom trying to decide what to wear. He has an appointment at five. If he wants to make it he has to either catch the bus, which comes in about fifteen minutes, or drive in. If he wants to drive in he needs to put petrol in his car,
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22600
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It didn’t take long for a whisper of unhappiness to sweep through the people. Soon the whisper of unhappiness became a whisper of dissent. And a whisper of dissent to turned into a grumble of complaining.
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103632
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Once upon a time he'd thought her as cold a fish as her aristocratic husband
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106780
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Beautiful, he thinks, as he taps the ash of his cigarette over the balcony, but this is not good enough.
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700
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It’s time to untangle the reality of life from the dream-like warmth of another’s body.
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14121211
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I am sitting on our porch in the middle of the night. I can't sleep. The stars look like runway lights. Out of boredom, I reach out my hand to connect the distant dots. The tip of my finger hits…
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42500
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http://mark-wackjob.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/the-bomb-hoax.html
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12633
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In a slum the size of ours, some hundred mothers (we number fathers by their absence, and you can't count homes when the dividing walls are tumbledown), you would expect a healthy helping of sexy, suay daughters.
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11210
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Sergio spoke of his madness. He painted during the day and at night—sometimes upright, sometimes leaning over his canvas with the brush in his hand dangling like an errant pendulum. His hair was thick, black curls bouncing with each brushstroke. He drank
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15182713
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This is not a story you expect to end at Cape Horn.
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4900
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"But the history of shooting smack was still there and couldn’t be erased. He sniffed at the base of her neck and it came out of her pores. He felt the dope in her flesh at his fingertips. It was there in each and every cell, and always in her soul."
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97700
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Coupling—why did I say that? Who says that? I mean the clacking together of bones, the willful splitting of fine and tender skin.
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21511
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His friends were obsessed with the end of the world. The joke he had told himself over and over again while fishing, was that on his return, the town would be completely gone. A smoldering crater. People sure can influence you.
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