John’s hands are on the wheel, very still, and he’s looking straight ahead at the dark yellow lines of Route 66.
This story is a fresh take on the proverbial phrase: go the extra mile for someone else.
It starts like this, the saddest story I know does. It starts with me and it starts with my son.
Jack Beauregard divides his time into zeroes and ones. He divides his time between mundane tasks and the question of whether he is worth loving.
We go to a bar for lunch that serves free candy.
Jared punches like dang. Gouges, arm-bars. Breaks windows at theme parties.
For the past month Wrat, a man removed from the dogtooth of language, had been hearing a scratching, needling noise clip the outmost walls.
On the job site one morning they found a dead squirrel. There was no indication of what had killed it.
When my team scores a touchdown, I have a few seconds in the spotlight to do my dance, to captivate the crowd. I pretend in front of my flock that I don’t enjoy it but I do. I am more vain than I let on
Mama Vincenzo’s Ristorante Italiano is located in hell
Bill and Mary were leaving because Mary felt old, when a woman’s hand fell on his shoulder.
Two weeks after the scientist’s freak exposure, a man in black arrived at his front step. It was the weekend, and the man in black brought with him a gift: a jumble of neon material he removed from
The cousin had called my thesis advisor and said something like, “Hey, film professor cousin, can you do this film for us?” and my thesis advisor was like, “Hey, no. But I know a guy who is still unemployed four months after graduation and is about to get evicted.”
It’s clear that most of these students hate Sal, Dean, and Kerouac.
There is an eerie glow to the hollowness of bark that has been stripped of its leaves and fruit
When was the last time she ran? At all? As a real kid in bare feet in grass at her grandparents’ house.
At least I was alone, I tell myself. There’s no one to miss the worlds I destroy but me.
She has a pliant diction, and always after speaking to her mother her accent takes on the squished together sing-song of Spanish. When I ask her who it was on the phone she says, “My mother,”
Look, you smile too much or too little, both at the wrong times, and people don’t like you.
You know you’re in the shit when you’re looking to fortune cookies for encouragement
Love is like a museum. You have to look around, experience things, and then leave.
Garielle's longest, most peculiar, most particularized book. A sure-to-be collector's item. Delivery 4-6 weeks!
"Is this the actual diary you wrote at the time? The diary reads a lot like a novel, with its motifs of the murderess, the acupuncturist, etc." -Garielle Lutz, author of Worsted and The Complete Gary Lutz
