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Sleepy and pensive, July succumbed to the day’s isolating heat.

He doesn’t notice the cop car rolling slow-motion into the station.

This must be what it’s like to be seen by God as we inch toward the infinite.

I know you want your mother’s dial tone like you want a KFC box.

I can’t talk yet. But I know things. I will tell you all this later when I can.

Ah, yes, Rita reminded herself: I won. Her Mistress of Mayhem award.

Barbie Chang asks why the evil one always has black hair.

Mina sees, very clearly, Tony Salvatore looking up her gaping shirt.

The dead children were wheeled away, covered with white sheets.

Beyond the glib off-white palisades lies the answer to an urban dream.

Why does she do it? She knows cutting yourself is a joke. Goth, idiotic.

Writing is a subversive activity that exempts you from the rules.

To see—and to see properly—is the writer’s central responsibility.

It was the sixties, and I was in
college and incredibly restless.

She knew what boys can do to girls: if the girls are alone, and helpless.

The sunrise does not blaze fiercely but spreads in a gentle flush.

Maybe she’s gay. I wonder if she masturbates when I’m out of the room.

I’m not here to remember a friend, but to say good-bye to a part of myself.

Pete gazes into his mother’s soul and finds a piece of smoldering coal.

In your postpartum state, your best hope is to bluff your way through.

It is music opening and closing, Italia mia, on Bleecker, ciao, Antonio.

At first my dad was optimistic that he could be a one-armed farmer.

The engineers seemed ripe for mockery, some more than others.

Too bad there is no oil between her legs that 4-year-old Muslim girl.

Nobody knows where I am, Ned thought. No one in the whole world.

It’s hard to say why Marlee wears the bridesmaid’s dress to work today.

Jimmy’s jacket, mittens, and shirt were in a pile next to his frozen body.

I had never thought of bed before as anything but an innocent place.

I returned to Vietnam with a tape recorder to collect ca dao.