Towards a complete thought.

Chase two wombats, catch none.

I told him that it's pretty messed up that his reference for country music was the Dire Straits.

It's hard to muster school spirit when I can't even cheer for myself.

He was right when he said you don't have to write to please some old, dead author. I would add to that those living.

Maybe try some new recipes.

I don't normally think in narratives–mostly images.

This morning, upon waking, I could taste the fried chicken of my dream.

He looks broken and bent, but I wonder if he's still crooked?

Good teeth make good neighbors.