AR: This is a boundary and you are going to push against it
After she leaves, you still drive the same route to work.
She arrived at my apartment at 3 a.m. with a soft suitcase on her head, a handle positioned over one eye. I could see the netting in her matted blonde wig. Her broken eyeliner and stained lips
After we finish doing the dinner dishes together, Mario heads into the living room and picks up the remote control.
“Guess what?” he says, turning on the TV. “New Zealand is playing England in
I saw into the face tattooed on his thigh and thought, I am not afraid.
A robot took my uterus. Left my ovaries behind.
When attempting to convince a group of friends to watch the 1995 film Showgirls, I compare it to the more recent Hustlers, but where Hustlers is invested in empowerment, Showgirls is invested in
Bill Murray ponders a six-pack before writing once more.
Yoda’s thirst provided more difficult than anything he had faced on the planet before. He did not have running water, and couldn’t just pop down to Pel’Kiha’s Corner Store anymore.
There was a time I had a flower in my mouth...
Aaliyah
Dr. Dolittle Soundtrack
Track #3
Damn. This was the song—the song we danced to in perfect rhythm with each other. No words—just movement, and it was all in our shoulders. I never saw the
Going to work after you’ve been on an meth bender in a brothel is not a good idea,
Previously on...
Part 5 || Part 4 || Part 3 || Part 2 || Part 1 || Prologue
Melanie is my yoga instructor. Sometimes she’s pregnant, other times not. Her voice is soothing in a way that would annoy me under other circumstances, like a preschool teacher without a preschool
I ask because, of course, I haven’t heard from our assassin.
Sangria at a soup shop. Pieces of peach and apple in the wine. The skin of the fruits unpeeled in my mouth. Sangria even though it was winter, early evening, cold and already dark out. Goblet-sized,
It’s a Tuesday at 3 pm, which means it’s time for my therapist to remind me that I am a victim of a violent crime.
"sorry to ping / i just want to know who was too good for who..."
The house on Olean street stands as it once did, a formerly bright white house, the sidings been torn off, revealing dark greenish-black shingles. This house, the black sheep of the neighborhood.
My father locked his children up in a house for years for fear that they would die of pesticides from plants. More than that, we were locked in our rooms with a gate.
