“Fiction is the lie through which we tell the truth.”
Sitting at the bar on Pacific Avenue. With the seashells in the walls. Same bartender from last year, still here, making the same lethal Mai Tais.
Sex is not a thank you card in this house.
I’d never heard of anyone having a second baby right after the first one, but everything was so strange in those early days of motherhood that I just acted on instinct.
The most entertaining thing about Miguel is that when he was 13 he dislocated his shoulder playing basketball and can now pop it in and out of place. There is nothing particularly interesting about Miguel.
He used to hold my hand on Commonwealth. I wonder sometimes if he ever still thinks about my mouth.
Allanson looked out of the viewport, at the ragtag flotilla of ships trailing behind, some of them slow to catch up. It was to be expected with the little time that they’d had to cobble the fleet together.
We drifted junk with a sledgehammer looking for juice. Sometimes the rage.
None speak of how the streets collide in coarse seams like scars, the fresh cobbles unable to level with the ones shaken from their mortar by uncountable seasons.
She turns her back for me to fasten the rows of metal hooks. Why isn’t our small, tender freedom enough?
Before the headaches began, I thought myself sturdy: firm in my foundations, set square like a saltbox house.
I know you shouldn’t keep wild animals as pets, but I’ve had the same spider in my bathroom sink for over two weeks.
I feel somewhat bad about using the death of my father as an excuse to prolong my trip.
A tortured simper uncoils itself across my mouth as I open another bottle of Penis wine.
Another image rises to us both: A man hunched before a TV, watching historical documentaries, correcting incorrect facts. Rasputin was not a priest, damn it.
The young boy goes to bed and kisses his mother goodnight. He goes to bed and closes his eyes and wishes his family good sleep.
We said, Heck, that’s really something.
I’m dancing with my best friend’s husband, under the influence of his jaws and thighs.
I eat my Oreos with relish. No—I mean I relish in the Oreos I eat.
Ever since your son brought you here, things have been different. He was crying when he dropped you off. You still don’t know why.
On the first day of our new life together, my husband realized that I was not interested in theoretical debate. He said it was okay by him and went out to get some pancake mix.