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Moneyexpand_moreOur ambition was a clawing, grasping thing. It got us out of bed.
They are glorious pumpkin-skinned messengers. I hate them.
Her family was still poor and hungry and scared.
Before he started spraying he would hand her the mask to put on.
Let’s walk down to the river, bless the paper boats and turn it all into wine.
A sociopathic streak on my father’s side I try to put to good use.
And the starved heart starts over, writing one line at a time.
Is anybody out there? Nobody answered, and I felt archaic as prayer.
Condemned to an easy life balanced on the suffering in another land.
David Lee
Charlie wasn’t Lena’s first love, but he counted on being her last.
My own hunger was for a reduction in the vast space between people.
My own hunger was for a reduction in the vast space between people.
There lay before us a bag that gave forth, at a touch, the jingle of gold.
Buster’s reasons for looking after Marco weren’t entirely altruistic.
Trump reminded me of the guys I grew up with on Long Island.
Slice a finger while opening a beer can, fizz the gin high in tumblers.
Neither fame nor wealth could provide consolation for life’s brevity.
My closet was a repository of foibles and fetishes, an archive of my life history.
The writer was there ahead of the world. And that was a great moment . . .
He knew what those friends were worth: he knew the girls too.
Professor Flacks could tell you everything about James Joyce.
If life is an open vein, what’s brave about a sleeve-heart, sweetheart?
It’s the roll-up-your-sleeves hour, when you have to make a living.
It is the one day that is purely American. Yes, a day of celebration.
The world seemed newly made and filled with a frightening silence.
Craig Bueltel
Life is a dream, he thought. Something she knew and I didn’t.
An idea surfacing—a crack of orange teeth. As if a ceiling disappears.
I tried to cheer my brother up by reminding him all clowns die too.