I only get twenty bucks that day. Trevor tells me to call him next week. He'll have some more work for me. But I never see him again. Or even hear his voice. I lose him number. Greaseback is never around. And then the phone gets cut off. I'm back to where I started.

Smart girls don’t tempt the devil. I was a bullseye, a bloody Rorschach blot, walking into the prison flaunting my muleta.

About earlier, he had started to say —

— is that all you can think about, your duck?

The Triple Crown is alcohol, weed, and Adderall. Hank did the Triple Crown on prom night at Emma’s parents’ house.

Our first stop was Red Rock Canyon, down at the bottom end of the Sierras. The rocks, as promised, were red. It was pretty. We ate our... more

When I was a freshman in college (many years ago, before the marriage and the children and the divorce and the loss of faith in God), I saw a man order eight McDoubles at a McDonald’s on campus and then proceed to eat them all.

While they wrote about the never-ending snowstorm in the first pages of their novel: outside of their apartment, snow began to... more

I watched Jim Johnson try to close out the 9thin front of a half-capacity Camden Yards. My father was supposed to come, but he was six blocks up... more

Old Seals Stadium is a shopping center now. It is a parking lot, a grocery store, a 24 Hour Fitness, a Ross Dress for Less, a... more

I’m sitting on our carpet, legs crossed, beer in my crotch. 

He said that Thompson could be the fastest to hit five hundred, a first ballot Hall of Famer, but I just nodded and sipped my coffee.

Take your pick. Me, they said I hung my off-speed stuff, lost track of the count, lacked mental toughness. I waved off too many signs.

The smell of grilled hot dogs is in the near distance. 

After tonight, I’ll be demoted to my parents’ couch and a job at my uncle’s lumberyard.

It tasted like apple cider — apple and something astringent — cinnamon, a strong cinnamon, warming, brown sugar, and sprinkled throughout the loaf, unadvertised, was some kind of dried fruit with a mild taste — raisins, probably — partially rehydrated by the thawing process.

My mother and father are stuck in an optic deadlock, her looking at him like she is trying to solve a puzzle or remember the name of a particular film, him looking like he’s just deciphered answers to both.

When I clock out at the end of the night my chit says I worked over 10 hours. Before I leave big brother tells me he has a great idea: walk like you need to get to the toilet. I see chef in line at a McDonalds. 

I’m on a date with this dude, the guy’s gorgeous, and ripped, skin all sunburnt like a surfer with... more

You elaborate: Christmas just makes people emotional. "No," she says, raking at her hair with French-tipped nails. "I don't think so."

We’re riding the red line south when Xue suggests stopping in Chinatown to purchase thousand-year eggs. I picture her... more

Also, every time they flew and he had that damn backpack on, he forgot that the space he occupied extended beyond his physical back. He whacked bystanders in the shoulders or the chest, and, at least once, the face.

Before that, the father had been away. It was a time that many fathers were away.

They bang their silverware and take turns slamming the toilet seat. They drag their garbage bins too late to the curb and leave them abused by stark weathers all week. Shaker knows there is an awkward progenitor situation.

I have coffee in my cup. I could toss the hot liquid on her and rush through the revolving door to my appointment, make her the slug.

Dixie leaned against the door, feeling the blood rush to one side before pounding it against the wood.