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The Lusitania

A coldness bumped a last kiss upon my cheek, a good-bye kiss sliding across.

The Making of a Writer

The Making of a Writer

Write simple sentences. Report. Don’t moralize. No pretensions.

The Man Arguing in the Kitchen

Five dark shapes loped after the car. Dogs—as far as the eye could see.

The Masque of the Red Death

All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death.”

The Morro

Your mother still glows with a smoothness that you envy.

The Murder

He always talked of making money with the air of a connoisseur.

The Mustache

“I mean it, Martín. I won’t marry a man with a bald lip, like a boy.”

The News from Hell

The stupider the president the more power you arrange for him.

The Night Before

I hadn’t even tried. I was one of the few kids D.A.R.E. had worked on.

The Nose

The Oil Sheikh

Six other guests smoked Marlboro Lights, and ashtrays filled up.

The Orchid Casket and Other Poems

I forgot to detail that the jumper leapt from beside the hanging Monet.

The Palace of the People

Part of me wished I’d never tried heroin. The rest wanted to be high.

The Phone Rings

Once she had loved him. When had she stopped? She did not know.

The Prayer Book

I thought fleetingly he might give it to me, as he knew I wanted it.

The Race Card

The features of the girl in the bathing suit suggest a mixed-race origin.

The Rage of the Squat King

What would make a sane person want to watch such blood sport?

The Return

He resumed his nightly practice of writing without being able to see.

The Rickshaw Wallah

He was last in Calcutta more than fifteen years ago, for his mother’s funeral. Han Ru feels something vaguely discomfiting, followed by a surge of recognition.

The Rock

She had a situation where she’d lost her driver’s license for speeding.

The Romance of Elsewhere

If you want to know what to write, ask yourself what obsesses you.

The Rooms

In the rooms you picked up what you liked, like shells on a beach.

The Rotten Ones

We chose to stay in the brutality of that night, even as the girls walked away.

The Saturday Morning Institute of Human Survival

The first time the world demanded more of me, I was twenty-nine.

The Sea Pebble

The people with pebbles go home to frolic under the detritus of the day.

The Shortstop

I understood that for us there would be no mourning the shortstop.

The Shot

His looks were Russian. He was surrounded by mystery.

The Silence Here Owns Everything

When he kisses me, my heart flutters in my chest like swarming bees.

The Skeletons in the Closet

How smooth their bones, like alabaster shaved from moonlight.