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I’ve made a rigorous effort. But it’s been hard, this hug embargo.
Overnight, somebody had dumped a dead pit bull in the trash bin.
The person was seeing his printed face superimposed over his real one.
I put my arm around Larry’s shoulders and ask him to pull over.
Clayton always imagined getting laid in the rooms of his dad’s motel.
Was this where he would grow old? Would it all end in a room like this?
He will, no doubt, be out of this house soon, headed over to Montgomery.
He told his father he wanted to make art pictures, not lousy mobster stuff.
There’s anger in the sound of a V-8 engine that puts me at ease.
The social-media world was ablaze with his daughter’s bagunça.
Fishing with Dad guaranteed two days of just us and made me special.
he has come to write like nervous wasps in my mind like a grocery list.
Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound the sand. I beat people up.
We had run out of every necessity. You name it, we didn’t have it.
“You look like you’re about to fall over,” he says. “Are you all right?”
Even the busiest of businessmen are out for the count, paying the price.
Her biggest secret was Jay Currie — her white American boyfriend.
Here, Min Jin reads from her novel at Narrative Night, New York City.
You don’t know what it’s like to be so hungry that you’d steal to eat.
Youth! Goodness! Joy! Hope! Strange things to bring to a place like this.
’Tis with our judgments as our watches, none go just alike.
Why am I always asleep in your poems? Look at me Ben, when am I.
Lie down & whisper all your careless dreams into my votive ear.
Gerard sat in the shadow, watching his son steal about like a thief.
I wish I could tell him he’s not going to hell. It would be so freeing for him.
No matter how much money there is, it can always just drain away.