Joel’s giggles turned to snorts and a volley of small farts as he tried desperately to avoid becoming a basket case on the spot.
When I told her I lost my job, she cried. I said, "It’s ok, I’ll get another job, we’ve got a little money, we’ll be fine." She told me, "That’s not why I’m crying."
Doctor Weller had as much as told him his pain and exhaustion, his misery, were all in his head, that he’d gotten inert and maudlin in his old age.
The limousine turned the corner, eased up to the curb and parked. I thought: Fuck. I must still owe one hellacious gambling debt.
I took the binoculars away. “Only fat kids do bird-watching. Pick again.”
On Halloween, the neighborhood children dress up like neo-conservatives and go door to door spreading lies.
Still, now in his mid-twenties, Allen often imagines what it must be like to have "underwater eyes."
Somewhere over the hill a siren went off. There was a gunshot, and then the siren stopped.
He was told that his condition was rare and always fatal. Gremlins with tiny pickaxes deconstructing his heart. He might die tomorrow, or in a year.
Every now and again, she’d yell out, “Four hundred and fifty-one dollars, idiot number two! Goddamn you, you’re losing, loser!” but mostly, she just sat slack-jawed until one of the nurses came by to give her another plate of mush…
Dave and Bob D. are sober-buddies. They never drank together. That’s why Bob D. can say "lovely" and "beautiful" to Dave and not get punched.
Ben Sobel tests cosmetic products on small, restrained mammals for a living. He puts makeup in their eyes and records how long it takes to destroy the corneas. He shaves them and applies nail polish to skin. He puts hand lotion into orifices. This is a real thing he does, for money.
At home, my parents, both children of the ’60s, eschewed the "evils" of caffeine in lieu of wheatgrass shakes and soy milk slurpees. However, thrust into my newfound fame, I fell full-bore into the lifestyle.
I crave the heavy earth and stiff air of this city. That’s why I stay here. I like the dusty museums of old houses, their bookcases the threshold of love and information. I make it to the Julianne’s Mom’s old mosquitoed house in the dead part of the night, half past midnight, crickets and neighbors’ […]