Saul’s fate always felt inescapable—like a hand came out of the sky and set him on a path at birth.
“Take this filth out of here,” said the bouncer. “Mr. Marconi is done with him.”
Two other men had Saul by the shoulders, lifting him just high enough that his feet couldn’t reach the ground. Through the red tinted hallway, up the steps, and thrown onto the curb. Something seemed to crack when the...
I don’t know a thing about him. Nope, nothing at all. You expect me to be saying something. I’m not saying anything.
Still here? Nope. Nada. I refuse. Unless you’re here for a good time? Are you here to laugh? Are you here to cry? Do you believe you have the right guy? You have the wrong guy, but I might know something—or I could be lying. You might never know.
Danielle came home—skinnier than ever with her jeans torn, her blouse stained from blood and dirt, and a scar on her hip. Later, her mother would ask about the scar, but Danielle would never give her an answer.
None of that mattered now. Danielle was alive, and all they could do was cry.
poking the cheeks when you want to stop. Time does not stop. Time will not stop. Does the stick leave you dripping red?
The stick sits firmly behind us, making us keep pace, tiring us as it marches us across a desert—the sand burns our feet, the sun braises our skin, and the dry air parches our throat.
when the song I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus played, always thought of how silly the idea was.
A time when a child woke to find their parents lip-locked in the living room, their father dressed in a Santa Claus outfit; their mother kissing her husband through a fake beard.
And at the same time, it’s reminiscent of childhood — of how we don’t know the truth because of s...
