We stood on the sidewalk, our sodas sweating onto our hands. My fingers were so slick I thought any second now the plastic cup would slip through them and smash into the floor. I adjusted my grip, and you smiled slyly.
"Do you want to come in?" You asked, gesturing at your house, behind us. One lone light lit the front yard. I looked at it for a second, judging whether it would be a stupid idea. Results: Extremely stupid.
"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Everyone knows the best adventure stories begin with "Why not?" and the worst romances start with...
I didn't see my first Lighthouse until I was 28 years old. When I did though it had the same sense of mystery and power that you always imagined Lighthouses to have from reading stories and poems in which The Lighthouse was the start attraction of the piece, seeming to not only guide ships in the night but hold the mysteries of the sea. I wasn't the only one to be so impressed with my first Lighthouse having to fight for a space against its tall walls to have my picture taken, alongside various other tourists, who'd made the trek...
From up there, I thought I could see it all, but there was nothing. I could see the vents on the roof of the building next door, and beyond that I could see into the window of the man who always kept his suit on until bed.
It wasn't supposed to be about the view, I knew. It was about living in the city and making the most of it, having a small nest to come to at night, to rest, to get up in, to walk out of, to descend from. The point was to be on the ground....
The sistine chapel didn't look quite right. From the ground of the chapel, it seemed very tiny. Almost insignificant. He tried to appreciate the art hovering above him as the tides of tourists pushed him out of the way, the tour guides spoke loudly about Saint so and so, and the priests shushed the crowds. It was all overwhelming so Jim left with a feeling of disappointment.
When he finally emerged from the museum, he looked around the streets. He could walk around to St. Peters Cathedral but he knew it also would be overrun with loud tourists. He couldn't...
i could be someone else,
a beauty queen,
a famous singer,
I could be an artist,
painting mountains and seasides,
making millions.
i could be a tv producer,
sitting in a beach chair and yelling at cast and crew.
But i choose to just be me.
I'm not a beauty queen,
an artistic genius,
or a tv producer.
but i'm unique.
there's no one else who can see through my eyes,
No one has walked two moons in my sneakers,
and that's the way i like it.
my mind is uncharted territory, my soul has never been explored. i'm a...
One of my co-workers told me that one time, when he was living in New York City, he was at lunch with his wife at a deli. They were sitting near a window. As they chatted and ate, they looked out the window, and across the street, they saw a homeless man pull out a pizza box and take a dump in it, right in the middle of the sidewalk, while passers-by passed by and made a point of not looking at him while he did it.
It's one of those stories that made me laugh at first, but later...
They were the best of friends, but the worst of enemies. My husband and his brother would become like tigers fighting for turf or for female companionship. And they would never stop. I liked it when we first met because, of course, my husband, then my roommate's friend, fought for the right to sit beside me at the dinner table, to talk to me, and would find all sorts of ways to stop his brother from any contact.
He didn't have to do that. I didn't like his brother much. They looked exactly alike, although there were 10 months between...
My mother in law kept a speedy pace behind me, screeching my name as I raced toward the hot dog stand. "THEO!" "THEO, YOU COME BACK HERE NOW!"I was full of adrenaline as I ran away from her at full speed now. I swiftly missed her grasp for my tee shirt as she made the attempt to grab hold of me.
Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. The doorway was not the kind of doorway best suited to huddling, and the gown appeared equally ill-designed for the purpose. Yet huddle she did. The rain dripped and sputtered from the sky, streaking her scarlet back as it fell.
After a time, she carefully unhuddled and picked up the bag that she had lain down beside her. She withdrew from it a small, glass orb, in which indistinct shapes and colours seemed to float. Lightning flashed briefly across the sky and as she held the...