Paul had pointed out my mother’s belongings to her when we first arrived—her needlepoint pillowcases, her porcelain figurines. I couldn’t say if she’d been fooled, but I wasn’t. When we got outside, it was a relief to breathe fresh air.… more
Paul had pointed out my mother’s belongings to her when we first arrived—her needlepoint pillowcases, her porcelain figurines. I couldn’t say if she’d been fooled, but I wasn’t. When we got outside, it was a relief to breathe fresh air.… more
The daughter was an anxious thing. She thought ghosts with massive cocks lived in her shower. She didn’t know how sex worked. An older boy down the street kissed her. She thought this made her pregnant. She thought she’d been had.… more
Philosophers wonder about the tree that falls in the forest with no one around to hear it, but writers carry their own dilemma–mainly, is a story still a story if you never share it? I thought about this in the years that followed. Aside from being an alcoholic and working one worthless job after another, thinking was about all I could manage during those years.… more
His parents called him Little Rambo because he liked watching Stallone manhandle the bad guys on an old VHS tape. He rewound the tape over and over until he copied Rambo’s posture the right way and shot his own little arrow through the air into mimosa trees lining their property. He ran through the woods and jumped over fallen pine, charging after imaginary enemies, calling out and telling them that he was coming for them.… more
With Alfie, sometimes you had to let him run himself out, the same way you did those big trout that used to choke the streams around here. Pull back too hard and it’s over. Better to let them go. Sometimes, though, you let a fish run like that and it means you’re going on a run yourself… more
I knew this fucking writer who every time he wanted to write something he’d go way deep in the zone and live the shit hard. I asked him do you call it method writing or some shit and he chased me with a butcher knife.… more
Every atom in my body pulled me towards the door of the sports bar, urging me to sit on the closest stool, sink into the cracked vinyl, and drink. And drink and drink and drink. Order a shot and let it rip through me like a chainsaw, spilling my guts all over the floor. … more
There was nothing to slide off her finger. No reason to reach out to Toby’s empty hand, turn it up, and set something in the middle of his warm palm. Nothing gleamed in the dim winter light. The ring was on a baggage cart, on the tarmac beyond the window, packed in Toby’s suitcase. But she knew it was coming.… more
Phonesy Johnson’s child, Phineous, is such a DICK!, the blog’s caption read. He wants to play ball, but Dad is CLEARLY so busy reporting to GOD that he cannot spend these 30 minutes providing his undivided attention.… more
None of them understood. You slap on a price tag and people want what they don’t need, which was why so much ended up on the street. How many bottles of $60 wine had he shipped that weren’t any better than the $20 bottles? Just because some guy probed a delicate glass with an obscene nose saying, …cherries, blackberries, vanilla, cigar… old shoe leather. It didn’t matter. People were easily duped.… more