I hate people who start conversations with facts - what are you supposed to do with that? Sure is hot today. Yes, it is.
I don't know that we are actually human at this point, those of us who are like most of us, who grew up with movies and TV and now the internet. If we are betrayed, we know the words to say; when a lo...
I could feel my limbs disconnecting, floating nearby like driftwood on an oily lake.
I carry on an inner monologue, but the words often don’t reach my lips. She looks nice today, I’d think, but somehow it wouldn’t occur to me to say it out loud.
I blame my mother. A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.
I appreciate a straightforward apology the way a tone-deaf person enjoys a fine piece of music. I can’t do it, but I can applaud it in others.
How odd, that I ruined my marriage over that little girl with whom I had nothing in common except that we both liked a good laugh and a cold beer after sex.
How are you, it wasn’t a courtesy, it was an existential question.
His eyes are mischievous, his lashes are long. I can see what he looked like as a boy.
Here in Missouri, the women shop at Target, they make diligent, comforting meals, they laugh about how little high school Spanish they remember.
Hell, at this point, I can’t imagine my story without Amy. She is my forever antagonist. We are one long frightening climax.
He was a good man, she said, dullness with an obligatory injection of empathy. No, he wasn’t, I said, and she laughed like she clearly hadn’t in a month.
He thought I’d be his best reporter, said I had a surprising mind. In my two years on the job I’d consistently fallen short of expectations.
He teased things out in me that I didn’t know existed: a lightness, a humor, an ease. It was as if he hollowed me out and filled me with feathers.
He promised to take care of me, and yet I feel afraid. I feel like something is going wrong, very wrong, and that it will get even worse.
He looks like the rich-boy villain in an '80s teen movie - the one who bullies the sensitive misfit, the one who will end up with a pie in the puss, the whipped cream wilting his upturned collar as ev...
He has that look, like I am being unreasonable, like he is so sure I am being unreasonable that I wonder if I am.
He felt like an animal limping away, some wounded buck that needed to be put down.
Go online and fucking figure it out for yourself because everyone’s overworked and understaffed.
Friends see most of each other’s flaws. Spouses see every awful last bit. If she punished a friend of a few months by throwing herself down a flight of stairs, what would she do to a man who was dumb...