My mother reached out to steady herself against the wall of soup. Her fingertips brushed against a Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom, knocking it askew in a otherwise undisturbed column of cans.
Simeon may have been the only other living man in a world of ghosts, but he was still a son of a bitch.
The first thing Lauren noticed was the woman’s hands: the way the veins snaked across the back of them, bisected by rods of tendon that tightened as each finger tapped the counter.
He stumbled on another invisible pothole in the needle-strewn forest floor, sending fresh stabs of pain through his heel. He knew it was broken, but had no choice but to push on. No time to pause and listen for the sound behind him.
So one night I’m sleeping on this guy’s couch. He wasn’t a friend. Just someone who would buy from me now and then. He had a fairly nice place. White leather sofa. Shag carpet. Like somebody who thinks he has some style or something
“When was the last time you looked at yourself in the mirror and thought, “Yeah, if I were a chick, I would fuck me”? Tork didn't wait for Hal to answer.
We stood in our soaking trousers in a tight circle around the dog where it lay motionless on the ground, it’s head at a strange angle that made me queasy to look at.
At exactly 5:36 p.m. on October 7, 2007, Cheryl Heinz, a 46-year-old pediatric nurse and part-time Sunday-school teacher, lost control of her 1992 Subaru Legacy sedan and skidded into oncoming traffic.
I did not kill anyone, I was not elected for anything, I never made a video that went viral on YouTube. But I stand in firm belief that every life deserves to be preserved, no matter how mundane.
At least the hole wouldn’t need to be that big — he glanced at the trash bag-shrouded bundle in the dewy, overgrown grass to his right — no more than two feet deep, three at the most.
There was nothing so dramatic about it, really, the way he slumped over; one moment upright, alive, human, the next an inanimate shell, crumpled in the backseat of a convertible.
The family huddled close together on the scuffed hardwood of their living room floor. On their knees, they clasped hands in a tight circle, shoulders almost touching.
“How are you today, ma’am?”
It was a greeting Jeremy had used so many times as a grocery store clerk that the words no longer carried any meaning as they left his tongue.
Ichabod Shrubb could see around corners. It’s not the kind of thing you’re born with, he was quick to point out. You have to work at it, like a muscle.
It had been another one of those nights; the kind of night that left him feeling like a dried out husk, with everything moist and human drained out behind him on the sidewalk in a line leading back to the comedy club.