All he needed was one picture. That was it. Just one. Too bad for him it was a specific picture. But the Internet always had what you needed, right? Heck, he was willing to pay for it. The entire company was counting on him.
"I got this, guys," he said as everyone was leaving for the night. "We're gold come morning. The investers just want to see that view added to the presentation."
They believed him. Heck, he believed himself. And he succeeded. It took a chunk out of his boss's platinum card, but big deal. This merger would earn...
I'm with stupid. It's Jerry's favorite T-shirt. He wears it all the time. It doesn't matter where we're going, he'll wear the shirt. Church, court, the museum-- he just shrugs his shoulders and gives me that grin when I ask him not to wear it. The more inappropriate the occasion, the more it seems to spur him to wear it.
Jerry's never really cared about impressions, that I get. But he also doesn't seem to get that I do. Sometimes, I think he gets some sick pleasure out of watching me squirm while he's talking to a prospective client at...
George's house was a hubcap magnet. Hubcaps came weekly, flying through the air at his windows or car or yard like some sort of kamikaze attack. He didn't know why this was, it just was.
First he attempted to board his windows up. This left him with shards of broken wood and slightly bent hubcaps. Eventually he settled on iron shutters. He felt a bit like a drug lord huddling in his iron plated house. Only it was more like a drug lord who frequently wore red converse sneakers and chinos.
It wasn't as if he lived in a high...
A girl with caramel eyes. That's all I know about her. She's a girl with caramel eyes. I wonder, vaguely, what shade of caramel: I murdered someone in a sweets factory once. There were so many different shades of caramel. Brown, dripping, honey sticky and sweet. Caramel is a wide field. I hope there is time to paly with her before she dies. That's the best part, playing with them. I want to watch her eyes widen as she watches me trace a knife around her throat. Maybe, if she's not a fat lump, I'll even kiss her. Not soft,...
Sean
By Jane Jones
He was late again. This had happened a lot over the past month and tonight she was determined to find out why.
She had been busy all day clearing out his wardrobe. He never did this and sometimes it annoyed her so she did it for him and it was beans on toast for his dinner. She hated doing him beans on toast as she always thought it was not a proper dinner but tonight she just wanted to make him happy so beans on toast it was going to be.
She poured herself another glass...
I'm dead. Really dead. Not in the "there'll be a twist at the end and I'll be saved" kind of way. Just dead.
It occurred a while back, and while I was living, I thought it was pretty unfair. Most people get 60, 70 years of life. Enough people got 30 or 40 years of life.
I got 25. By the time you're 25, you're only finally getting your last degree, your first bit of experience, stepping over that last big stone in your path before you enter the real world. The one where you earn enough money to do...
The only sound that broke the stillness was the sound of the horses' hooves as they struck the ground. Garth took off his hat and waved it in front of his face.
"How can you see like that?" asked Becky, motioning to the endlessly flat landscape before them. Sand reflected the unending glare of the sun.
"I read somewhere that you lose more body heat through your head than anywhere else," said Garth, fanning himself with the straw monstrosity.
"So you're choosing to be cool over being able to see?" Becky shielded her own eyes from the light.
"Buck here...
He didn't even pack. He just picked up a satchel and left. He knew it'd been over for a while, but last night was when he was finally able to summon the courage to do it.
When people heard what he'd done, they'd offer their condolences. But he didn't see it as a sad thing. He saw it as a new beginning, as new horizons.
Daring to be noticed for the first time in her life, she pushed her chair back and stood up. What was she going to do? Who was this girl? I had been in this graduate school class with her for a month and I dodn't know her name. In fact, she rarely ever came to class in the first place. Actually, I didn;t even think the professor knew who she was. But, nevertheless, thre she was. We were talking about politics and the upcoming election. Frankly, I wasn;t really paying attention too closely. I try to stay out of those...
It was a simple case of mistaken identity. That and trusting the good uniform while having no trust at all in the bad. Both of them are dangerous. But for Paul on this cloudy spring day it was a life changer.
"All I did was pick up an orange. What's wrong about that?" Paul asked the officer.
"Normally nothing. But this man here says he's seen you stealing fruit every day this week."
"That's crazy! I'm on work detail! Do you know how hard I had to work just to get this small amount of freedom? And now I'm getting...