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He smelled of cooking and, faintly, of cigarettes. Unpleasant.
There are scars on my heart, just as thick, as disfiguring as those on my face. I know they’re there. I hope some undamaged tissue remains, a patch through which love can come in and flow out. I hope.
Under no circumstances, was my immediate thought.
How they loved to wear those badges on their blazers the next day! As if a silver in the egg-and-spoon race was some sort of compensation for not understanding how to use an apostrophe.
I breathed in, deeply, hoping for cool night air. Instead, my nasal passages were assaulted by tar, nicotine and other poisons.
like a very unterrifying dragon.
During the next free-form jigging section, I started to wonder why the band was singing about, presumably, the Young Men’s Christian Association, but then, from my very limited exposure to popular music, people did seem to sing about umbrellas and fire-starting and Emily Brontë novels, so, I supposed, why not a gender- and faith-based youth organization?
“No thank you,” I said. “I don’t want to accept a drink from you, because then I would be obliged to purchase one for you in return, and I’m afraid I’m simply not interested in spending two drinks’ worth of time with you.”
I do feel that tube tops are best suited to the under twenty-fives, if, indeed, they are suited to anyone.
Raymond started eating, telling me the details between—and during—mouthfuls. I’m not sure what it would take to put that man off his food. The Ebola virus, perhaps.
Grief is the price we pay for love, so they say. The price is far too high.
It’s both good and bad, how humans can learn to tolerate pretty much anything, if they have to.
A semi-human bath sponge with protruding front teeth! On sale as if it were something completely unremarkable! For my entire life, people have said that I’m strange, but really, when I see things like this, I realize that I’m actually relatively normal.
She was smarter than she first appeared, Dr. Temple. That fact notwithstanding, her dream catcher earrings today were, frankly, abominable.
It looked like the kind of hat that a German goblin might wear in an illustration from a nineteenth-century fairy tale, possibly one about a baker who was unkind to children and got his comeuppance via an elfin horde. I rather liked it.
Dry doesn’t even come close to describing the arid desert texture of her coffee-and-walnut sponge cake.
“In the end, what matters is this: I survived.” I gave him a very small smile. “I survived, Raymond!” I said, knowing that I was both lucky and unlucky, and grateful for it.
