Chess was a humiliation that hung over him like a leper’s bell.
Streetlights throw the blinds against the ceiling. It’s 7:00 p.m.
It was true. We would probably never visit that place again.
In a way she enjoyed the slow, sad feeling of letting it go.
The tree was shaggy and it bore scars of shrapnel from the war.
The animals are dying. All the beautiful women are dying too.
“I’m torturing you,” she said. “It isn’t fair.” Now I saw there were tears.
Tony’d had guns pulled on him more times than he had toes.
Her name sprang to my lips in strange prayers and praises.
what happens in all these villages after we ride through them?
Vultures liked to perch on the austere ledge outside my window.
Be glad the numbness in your legs isn’t reading on your face.
I saw Baryshnikov twice. Heard Pavarotti, Marsalis, and Ma.
I saw my mother’s face turn dark like the winter sky before a storm.
New cartoon from Mick Stevens: “It’s hardly worth the trouble tonight.”
New cartoons from Chris Weyant, Joe Dator, P. C. Vey, and more!
Longtime residents witness the eruption of violence in Charlottesville.
The smart hide their claws in their paws, then add fur for allure.
I wanted to forget my parents’ slow dying together in Ohio.
Purple planets, dirt stars. Imagine the carom in the hall, how it sounded.
Audio clips of Pultizer Prize winner Jennifer Egan on her work.
Despite cell phones, they seem connected only by smoke.
We boarded a ferry eager for foaming water rushing toward our feet.
How many times had I passed it in a taxicab or walked within sight of it?
Our dog had held down what we had by pressing his belly to the floors.
Paharganj reels with beggars. Old women, boys, breast-feeding girls.