"I has a bus! I iz in it!"--written in black sharpie on the pink paper. The torn end of it soft and frayed, the grocery list on the back now outraged with the bleedthrough of the ink.
"Wait, shouldn't it be like, E-E-N E-E-T?" Linda said, her glasses dangling just off her bottom lip.
"Wait, what?" Sarah replied, she stared hard at the pink paper, not wanting to look at Linda or her stupid retro horn rim super thick shiny blue metallic glasses hanging from her lips. She knew Linda thought that looked cute but it just looked gross and...
Milkshakes from the cosmos! Or something like that. That's what I wanted my small business to be like. But this putrid fucking recession! Quit smoking. 43 days. You're goddam right I'm proud--not just anyone, that's for sure! Yeah my kid's joining the army. Can't stop him. I bought him season's tickets to the Donut Holes his whole damn life. Sure they ain't no Kan-zass Cit-tee Roy-als, but they play some sure as shit baseball, that's all I know. He hit that girl last summer, and things ain't been working out for him ever since. Yeah, sure I told him to...
Midnight on the Roof. That's where he'll be. I know Santa Claus is real. I know that because he's my Dad.
It was small things at first. I made a list:
1) A wistful smile on Mum's lips each Christmas Eve.
2) The way she hummed "I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus" without noticing.
3) The fact we ALWAYS put out cookies and beer for him before Christmas Day. And a carrot for Rudolf.
4) My last real memory of him dressed in his large red gown and hat with white fur trim telling Mum he had to go. His...
If your parents are going to name you after a song, there are a few things they should think about.
For a start, it needs to be a good song. Actually, no, it needs to be an actual name. Nobody wants a kid called "You know what they do to guys like us in prison."
But it still needs to be a good song. A really good one. Not some one-hit-wonder.
And it should be subtle. I mean, "Penny Lane" - that's obvious. "Layla"? Not so much.
Maybe I'll change my name to Layla, when the forms come through. Or...
Sal knew it was too late the minute the whistle blew. That train had been keeping time in Millersville for twenty years and when its screech filled the air, everyone knew it was one in the afternoon. An eclipse could turn the day to night and no one would doubt it was in the PM if the train sounded. Heart racing and pulse pounding, Sal made a desperate dash down the road, passing the stable and skidding to a halt. "Now there's an idea." If some idiot wanted to leave a saddled horse loosely tied to this hitching post just...
"But I like green."
"You would. Green is a very you colour." She waved her hand, apparently indicating his shirt. "You look good in green."
He raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Do I?"
She ignored it, ignored her cheeks going pink - there was no point to this line of conversation, she was not going to think about it.
Except that he did look good in green, very good. Something about dark hair and dark green and those eyes -
"I just don't think green is a good colour for a rug. I don't think it'll go in the living room....
Once in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. She was hoping to catch a cool breeze as well as a paying customer as the slinky dress billowed behind her. Cigarettes were sexy again, and with lung disease the least of her worries, she inhaled with abandon. Another night, another John...
But tonight was different, because as she bent to tap the ashes from her cigarette, she saw a green cloth protruding from behind the fake potted plant near the doorway. Curiousity getting the better of her, she pulled aside the leaves to find the...
Find within yourself the path to truth, and you will never steer yourself wrong.
Good Lord, what a load of crap, he thought, sharpening the shovel again.
Rely on my own internal frame of reference to tell me what is the true path? Hell, if I thought my internal compass was true, I'd be in a better place now. Isn't that right, Jenny?
No, I guess you wouldn't have much to say about it, would you?
I never thought we'd be in this position, Jen. I honestly thought we'd make it. But I followed my heart, and that led me...
He was a great runner. Clare ambled along at the back, jogging along, lost in a daydream as usual. He steamed ahead, focused on the finishing line. He had lapped her once already; she had felt the wind pick up, the footsteps thumping on the ground, then he'd passed her in a blur. The other girls were right behind him, wanting to be the first ones to be with him when he finished.
There, he'd finished, she saw. The girls were surrounding him, praising him. One even dared to reach out and push back a stray lock of hair. Clare...
"What is it you have to do again?"
Richard pointed at the screen. "You have to get the butterflies to land on that tree."
"Which one, the one on the left?"
"No," he said, "the other one, the little one."
His son crossed his arms. "Dad, this game is so lame! I don't see how you could have played this thing. The graphics suck!"
"Hey, this is 16-bit resolution! You should have seen some of the old 8-bit side-scrolling games. The graphics on them were even worse, but they were all we had. And do you hear those sound effects?"...