She is very rich. She will leave me everything when she dies, he says.
Howard found himself dancing the merengue with a buxom Puerto Rican.
I opened my eyes and they burned; I closed them and saw my father.
I’m not here to remember a friend, but to say good-bye to a part of myself.
Thank goodness Dad died—sounds awful but he left his condo paid for.
We pushed through the doors, back into the audition, among the lithe adults.
The mortician who painted our girl was not a somber-suited officiant.
She’d planned to choose an adult film and lie back with him to watch.
If you play, decide three things: the rules, stakes, and quitting time.
It was hard to know what memories or images had marked him.
Someone’s walk is pretty much who they are, from the beginning.
“Tell me how it felt”—he narrows his eyes—“when you first saw her.”
Her father is important in his village and has three wives.
She holds the shirt to her face and inhales. With a start she pulls away.
She looks at them through eyes flattened by a confused life.
Was that lipstick on Don’s cheek? This was too much for her to take.
He gazed up at you with eyes burning like you were the Holy Ghost.
Then bullet strikes were spiderwebbing the windshield.
“Being gay’s not a sin,” as if it's obvious why I don’t belong in church.
Rules are rules. No one comes this close, this fast. Protocol reigns.
In the story she was a dripping, chocolate-covered vamp.
Marie was Indian, and everything Indian required patience.
He’s got it out. And I say Who’s there right now? Just your ex-wife.
She rocks quickly from side to side, proud, lifting herself higher.
Xin Bao had gotten drunk and stolen a hyacinth macaw.
He was reading Our Town. She studied the departure board.
Later in the pale of dawn your hair brushed across my forearm.
“Jesus Christ,” Dad said, after the counselor spelled it out for him.
A lawyer, senator, judge; laws are what he lives for. His left eye squints involuntarily.