A gravely ill man was waiting for me in a village ten miles distant.
There was no sense in brushing off or any other civilized thing.
My grandfather committed my grandmother to a mental asylum.
Frank kept his face blank as he read the orders: Report to Berlin.
We are in his car. “Bell, I’m starving. Want to go for a burger or pizza?” I panic. Pizza. 285 calories per slice. Burgers. Harder to estimate.
How much simpler and more satisfying was the company of men.
The tree was shaggy and it bore scars of shrapnel from the war.
The author reflects on a soldier‘s experience, in just six words.
Mostly he was in a hurry, so he’d just stick it in and away we’d go.
Why did it take Steven’s small coffin to get me to see my own son?
When you are sixteen and sixty-five pounds, you are all shadows.
Tony’d had guns pulled on him more times than he had toes.
The appendix on political correctness explains why none of that is funny.
You are afraid pain itself might develop a way to communicate.
she was sixteen, and swimming. she was seventy-one, and soft.
I tell him: junkies are the only people worth talking to about love.
The pillow into which her face was turned muffled her voice.
Suddenly, all of the past seemed now like the same endless race.
I lost my medicine bag from back when I believed in magic.
Some days Barbie Chang wants to hang up her Asian boots.
I could not tell what visions were vanishing in the dying slave.
The dead children were wheeled away, covered with white sheets.
Why does she do it? She knows cutting yourself is a joke. Goth, idiotic.
Even glaciers have phone lines even Roquefort has its soft tufts of sweet
I looked out at the busy world, and I saw nothing but its ugly bones.
In three years he had made her forget that blindness meant not seeing.
A boy who makes dinosaurs from blue clay, each one with three hearts.
Here’s a first, he said, some nutbag wants to dig the grave himself.
The story doesn’t begin until the van breaks down, I always say.