That was the summer that Tim had a left hand full of broken bones.
He was from a generation for whom superstition and folklore were interwoven seamlessly into history.
Terrible things have happened. Your expertise is required to set right the unhinging of our world.
I am a connoisseur of places to sit.
We both paused and stared at the screen in time for a bomb to burst, engulfing everything in white.
She says, “I have to. This is, like, my last chance, you know?”
How time had passed and made fools out of us.
But one is a writer, and one is a hero, because it is the only thing they could possibly be.
The worst were the blow-its. A blow-it was unpredictable. Anything could happen.
She knew how to read a newspaper article when she was five; now she cannot tell Chinese from hieroglyphics.