Coxley, a small college on the other side of the minor Pennsylvania river that split our town in two. His real name was Albert Vetch, and his field, I believe, was Blake; I remember he kept a framed p...
Comic books actually are inferior, Sammy said. I really do believe that. It’s—it’s just built in to the material. We’re talking about a bunch of guys—and a girl—who run around in their long johns punc...
But the first lie in the series is the one you make with the greatest trepidation and the heaviest heart.
But he had come here today to stand one final time at the top of one particular signal bridge that he had come to think of as his own, and tell another summer goodbye.
Black people live their whole lives in a fantasy world, it’s just not their fantasy.
Because Trickster is looking to stir things up, to scramble the conventions, to undo history and received notions of what is art and what is not, to sing for his supper, to find and lose himself in th...
And yet in her eyes there was something unreadable, something that did not want to be read, the determined blankness that in predator animals conceals hostile calculation and in prey forms part of an...
An invisible gas clouds his thoughts, exhaust from a bus left with its engine running in the middle of his brain.
All literature, highbrow or low, from the Aeneid onward, is fan fiction....Through parody and pastiche, allusion and homage, retelling and reimagining the stories that were told before us and that we...
A surprising fact about the magician Bernard Kornblum, Joe remembered, was that he believed in magic. Not in the so-called magic of candles, pentagrams, and bat wings. Not in the kitchen enchantments...
A few peace activists, looking like peace activists all over the world, young, unassailable, and romantic, hand out roses. The message is old, the gesture likewise: the flower as a sign of good. There...
A bitter, disappointed, and jealous man kills the man he believes to be his wife's lover, this you consider to be unlikely. A murderous Nazi spy with orders to abduct a parrot, on the other hand—
They had not been able to bear the weight of married love upon their windpipes.
He stank more than any human joe had ever smelled, as if he had been dipped in some ungodly confection of camembert and rancid gasoline brewed up in a spit-filled cuspidor.
Так уж получается, что исследователи неизменно дают свои имена местам, которые изводят их или убивают.
My grandmother would freak you the fuck out.
Grappling in a hernia truss with steel kegs of Yuengling. For
Acromegaly. Frau Dr. Anna Kavalier was a neurologist
[...]a man and a boy, side by side on a yellow Swedish sofa from the 1950s that the man had bought because it somehow reminded him of a zoot suit, watching the A’s play Baltimore, Rich Harden on the m...
You were right once, young man, Anapol said. That may be all the being right you get.