He had worn that gray patchworked paperboy a year or more now, and I was glad the wind had picked it off his head. But he loved that hat, he said while scratching his chin, asking what he could do me for. Then wanting to stop this talk of love, of things buried in snow or hiding hair forbidden to touch, I said the time for sock hats was drawing nigh.
Making your way back to the family, you notice that Jeremiah and his bike are gone. You’re disappointed and you take a spot in the back corner of the pavilion by yourself. Your wife’s sitting near the front of the crowd with your parents. She has no idea that you are not taking her with you to Chicago. This is definitely the only Miller family reunion she will ever attend. It may be your last one, too.
A shudder works its way through his belly. The thought is horrifying, and he watches the strange animal motion of the man, the increasing speed and violence of his thrusts, the woman’s breasts swaying back and forth, and the boy is suddenly thinking, those are tits, those are tits, those are tits.
somehow all neighborhood tribes & tribe lords love you. somehow you beat my score on the nickelcade spaced invaders.
I walked into the river, Shirley, and it was cold and my knees raked across the rocks. The world is a heavy, bloated thing with sharp teeth and tentacles, to use a metaphor. And I guess what I mean to say is that some things just don’t seem to matter all that much anymore.