You’re probably thinking these things happened a very long time ago, but as a matter of fact it was just yesterday, and yet somehow we are all old and married with children now, even the former supermodel
My boy on the boulevard bubbling.
Triple wick rip tide in my mind.
Seeing a picture of my tits online didn’t bother me as much as it should have.
With snot running down my chin, weeping, I allowed myself to entertain the possibility that this key situation would go on forever.
I tried to remember something my dad told me about Luis Aparicio after Ozzie Guillen made an error in a game in 1991.
Your date’s cologne smells like rancid wine, which should be a good enough reason to bail, but it’s only hour two and you’ve made a commitment.
He doesn’t seem to think I’m a handful. I can tell by his texts.
I have to believe that what I am writing — what I am living through — means something.
The Utah girls were already asleep. Unlike me, they were going home in a few days.
The Marathon was born out of a legend about a fifth-century Greek messenger named Philippides who ran 26.2 miles without stopping to deliver a message that the Greeks had defeated the Persians in battle.
She started to ride by his Marigny shotgun until he came out and became her boyfriend. Her boyfriend, a chef who meets with narcotics anonymously, orchestrates impromptu dinners in the backyard of a liquor store.
And then Greta. I found her crawling toward the lake, on fire.
“To be inside of someone's mind has to be the sexiest thing in the world.”
I was still pouting over hometown boy, and neck-deep in an article about foiled wallpaper when I got a Facebook message from Preston. Could we get together?
He puts down his High Life. His pale hand drifts across the table toward mine
Bliss can flip into alienation and back into elation, adding to the teasing uncertainty of identity.
I can’t remember the last time I tried to play tennis or any sport but I can tell you all the winners from this week’s tournament
When you peed in the cup, Herman was behind you, watching.
‘Did you talk about capes,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ Mary said.
But I don’t even know what a collective is. And I can’t remember if he had tattoos.
In the train carriage, we’re hot in our furs, brooding and half-drunk.
One weird Halloween everybody dressed up as Elliott Smith.
like HFCA is kind of artless manipulation
it’s not subtle
