Tongue, eye, nose—which has the shortest route to the brain, heart?
“Maybe you should leave the rumba to those who know how to do it.”
I’ve never cared for the National Anthem. It’s not a good song.
Chess was a humiliation that hung over him like a leper’s bell.
“I just moved here and I want to get a plot in the garden. What should I do?”
In every pair, one shoe smells of exodus, the other of the body’s sweat.
I grew accustomed to seeing the sun rise and set from the school.
Why do girls want to cheerlead? Don’t they know it objectifies women?
Suddenly, all of the past seemed now like the same endless race.
We couldn’t tell which of us was a girl or a boy we gorged on dirt.
The old dog of inertia gets up with a growl and shrinks out of the way.
We loaded the packs and started down, into the bluing of dusk.
The mortician who painted our girl was not a somber-suited officiant.
“I wish my father was alive to see how lazy I could really be.”
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People only see that side of him. He is still a boy, learning to be a man.
Do the work. Every day. Take a step back and see if you love it.
Early on, Castro learned and opposed the unfairness of things.
I was tracing my finger along his hoodied back, to draw the route.
My grandfather has a space where the tip of his thumb should be.
I felt awful about imposing on him, but I was desperate to see the Derby.
Their hands were acting as airfoils, producing lift, not drag.
“That pool,” Kenny said, breathing harder. “I’m telling you, it’s magic.”
Eleanor was the first normal person my brother, Nick, ever dated.
Fishing with Dad guaranteed two days of just us and made me special.