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The Royal Reykjavík Sex Tour

We were in a play about affection. We were in a play about sex.

The Salaryman

It almost makes you cry, to know that you are no longer needed.

The Saturday Morning Institute of Human Survival

The first time the world demanded more of me, I was twenty-nine.

The Second-Worst Rug My Father’s Ever Seen

I hear myself giving advice in my father’s voice: Take the emotion out.

The Sentimentality of William Tavener

It takes a strong woman to make any sort of success in the West.

The Servants’ Quarters

Ma didn’t believe in slapping. It was what common people did.

The Session

Joanie’s face was something she’d borrowed from Miró, from Picasso.

The Shaker

My friend Angela, who is also my roommate, got me into stripping.

The Sin of Height

What humanity needed was that gravity-defying miracle, the bird.

The Spectacular

What’s a man supposed to do when his best friend is a falcon?

The Speech of Miss Polly Baker

If mine, then, is a religious Offence, leave it to religious Punishments.

The Story of a Scar

“As your brother, I ask you, how did you get that scar on your face?”

The Stylist

For a month after 9/11 Bella wept through all her appointments.

The Stylist

Her bra is black, her breasts full and white. There is too much flesh.

The Sugar Factory

Like New York City, the factory was circumscribed but infinite.

The Threat of Peace

At a red light he touches his cheek. The stubbly skin is sensitive, febrile.

The Toll

I found myself alone on the train in possession only of Knoll’s journal.

The Trade

Forgive my father, the promise that he made, that I could turn all this to gold.

The Transcontinental

“I—I am Martin Eden,” Martin began. (“And I want my five dollars.")

The Treatment of Bibi Haldar

Her sentiments maudlin, malaise dripped like a fever from her pores.

The Under-Assistant West Coast Promotion Man

These adventures taught me that writers are flawed human beings.

The Victims

When I think on it, I can’t believe I’m going to kill two people over weed.

The Village

The golden-haired ones, they think they’re better than Virgin Mary.

The Well Diggers

She wonders if he will be all right. She assumes he has four-wheel drive.

The Western Tailor

You never see Westerners, so you don’t think of them as human beings.

The Winter Soldier

He was ready to move on, to touch his patients, to cut them open.

Thinking It Through

His mother wasn’t there to meet him at his stop. She never was.

Thirst

Our ambition was a clawing, grasping thing. It got us out of bed.

Thirteen Months Unemployed

They are glorious pumpkin-skinned messengers. I hate them.

This Kind of Life Keeps Breaking

“We’re not like other species,” you say, a novelist at night.