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“We must also buy twenty acres or so. Life is becoming impossible.”

You are the only one who knows not to pour water on the flame.

I was free. The first step had been taken, and it was irrevocable.

I can only say I am here searching solo for remnants of Seoul Drive

In the story she was a dripping, chocolate-covered vamp.

Take my hand, lead me by heart over the blind stepping-stones to the edge.

Protect your hands. You can always get by if your hands aren’t broken.

They’re not, and it’s not, and we’re not, and only a god can save us.

Oh, how did people do it? How did they find some way to be happy?

It was the season of storm delays, of . . . shame and ghosts on trains

"In County": A new six-word story by Robert Olen Butler.

Make haste, my love, I am redrawing the scale of escape.

Part of my desire to be in London related to its writers.

Those moments are all I want. I want a life of this. He sighs and I sigh.

Jennifer Haigh

“I want to stay in real yurts,” I said, “not yurts for Westerners.”

Pushing by the man, he ran down the street towards the station.

Bad luck, like the white-scabs disease, can infect others.

Divorced. Wife living with someone else. Pregnant with his child.

It’s other things than the like of you would make a person afeard.

We were alone in the world, and we had left dear ties behind us.

Phaethon thought he could drive the sun but was struck down to earth.

Daofu was a cluster of lights bubbling up in the belly of a darkened plain.

All her sisters have gone to bed, dreaming dreams not like the wakeful.

The scent of lighter fluid and tobacco drifted in through the window.

she was right—hurricane being the name of the feeling, the twist of it.

We say America you are magnificent and we meant we are heartbroken.

Who cared about a whiff of male exertion and motor oil? Not Lana.

Don’t start conversations or attract attention. Don’t be suspicious.