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End of October, days recede quickly into night. Leaves fall in slow motion.

The presents you receive will not have been chosen with such care.

Some inner voice told her that now or never her fate would be decided.

I grabbed him by the face and told him life only comes to a person once.

So, Ida, are you a Jew or a nudist? Do you believe in Hanukkah?

The old man drinks some more liquor and whacks down two trees.

There were more whispered speculations about his relative sobriety.

In every pair, one shoe smells of exodus, the other of the body’s sweat.

It’s just a great big old world with Santa and angels all around.

Poems and stories are the whisperings of angels we cannot see.

‘Isn’t this great?’ she said. ‘A bit of peace for ourselves?’ ‘No one could go into a cafe on their own on Christmas Day.’

I wouldn’t sleep a second, knowing the catastrophe I’d set in motion.

Creating so many mail merges, loading ink, unjamming paper.

Jimmy’s jacket, mittens, and shirt were in a pile next to his frozen body.

I knew my father started the fire. It’s not the first place he’s burned down.

Floods of faces, no sign of a pathway toward Bethlehem, shut off by blizzard.

The streets were filled with couples and families on their way home.

She leaned back to accommodate the sweet delirium of his hands.

Who are we? Without one another, who will we be?

The judge’s mother was impossible; her mere presence was infuriating.

Pushing by the man, he ran down the street towards the station.

She looked over through the falling snow. “Jack?” she said. “Is that you?”

I never entered no-man’s-land by any light brighter than the palest moon.

They’d developed Santa’s entire system, had written the code.

She wags her index finger so furiously that I’m certain it will snap off.

For my part, I do not want a Happy Christmas: I want a Merry Christmas.

He was reading Our Town. She studied the departure board.

The church was clearly the work of a madman driven crazy by the wind.