The hawkers’ cries herald the beginning or the winding down of any given day here. Now it’s half past five o’clock p.m., and the sound of their sonorous voices as they walk up and down Peaceful Quiet Street stretches into its forte. "Buy a newspaper!" "Need your shoes cobbled? Need them polished?" "I can fix […]
And after pointing out the way to the bathroom Charette found herself quickly scuttling away, if only to prevent herself from blurting out how another vous could earn him the special surprise of a cake with ground-up glass in it.
He was somebody all right, except of course for the bitter fact that he had been fired from every job he’d listed on his resumé. You’ve got to think the guy is either confident or nuts.
Billy was somewhat ashamed of his father, embarrassed some as well, at his father’s now lethargic and flabby body. He decided that his ass would be the new target.
The audience was still laughing at the story Kevin appeared to have told off the top of his head. It was more likely, as I knew, that he had written the entire anecdote out on the set list.
Eve dislikes being unable to see the floor.
About the Mystery Man: He is being universally described as a hero.
It seems to be true. And I for one will say I am glad about it,
because we need heroes, and in recent times so many people have
bandied about the term for just about anyone, usually for political
What got to me about Tim was his wanting the same things I did, his urge to understand everything. Nowadays I feel like I understand about all I can take.
It’s as exciting as it was when you first met Satan, even accounting for the fact that then you were naive and now you’ve been around the block a few times.
They would sit in their three chairs and watch their trash get sucked down into the hole at the bottom of the toilet, which had a permanent black ring smeared around it, and they would cheer and punch their fists together.
The best entertainments come from one’s own body.
Dad’s presence had shed a sort of good light on everything, but with him gone we could all see each other better: My brother was good and deserved a lot, my mother was weak and needed care, and I was not a good person.
Mama’s in her black stretch pants, red blouse loose and no bra and I can’t help but laugh at us two running, flopping, out this nasty old house, willow tree outside and them Portuguese boys from across the street climbing up it and looking in the window.
There I was sitting on the couch trying to watch Sanford and Son and you wouldn’t stop belittling me. The final straw was calling me a "psychotic cocksucker."
I don’t know how it happened, how he lost it. He won’t tell me, at least not the truth.