The Bee Sting

by Paul Murray

People imagined poems were wispy things, she said, frilly things, like lace doilies. But in fact they were like claws, like the metal spikes mountaineers use to find purchase on the sheer face of a glacier.

So many of the bad things that happen in the world come from people pretending to be something they’re not.

Sometimes she wondered if she even liked him, but usually she was too busy figuring out if he liked her.

To me, you’re gone. But to a dog you’re still mostly here, because your smell lingers much longer, and that’s their strongest sense. So they must have a whole different understanding of time, because for them the past is literally still around.