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Jobs & Workexpand_moreWe can be naked in black light, the smell of unwash and old pot.
My job requires me to make things disappear like a Vegas magician.
Oh they pay me well. I make a small fortune. Yes they pay me well.
Dad is catnip to the lady residents. He’s tall and lean, plus he’s got all his hair.
América, make me wings large enough to carry me back and forth.
Dexter was unconsciously dictated to by his winter dreams.
Her mother singing out the window at trucks slamming the other way.
He never stopped reminding me that I was born in Harmony, Georgia.
You’re going to have a difficult life if you can’t figure out where to stand.
No one else ever seemed to mind working side-by-side a murderer.
Something is wrong with that place. Someone’s still there . . .
Literary gatherings are a nightmare because writers have no shop talk.
You’re supposed to hit is the bull’s-eye, that black spot, precise spot.
“The basis of literary friendship is mixing the poisoned bowl.”
“Ki o tsukete!” she called, and he knew the words. Be careful.
You’ve seen her almost every day, going to and from the gardens.
Not the Olympics, the guard said. Just chuck yourself down the tube.
“O youth! The strength of it, the faith of it, the imagination of it!”
It was the way of the world: everybody wanted someone else.
