I told William to meet me in the alley between Fifth and Sixth, on the east side of Pershing Square. Pershing in those days was where LA began its slump towards the homeless camps of the dried-up river.
At just the tender age of three you joined a century-long conversation about the shortcomings of women’s fashion.
“”BAM, BAM!” The report from his handgun caused folks to drop to the floor and scurry away like cockroaches seeking cover.”
Last week was the third consecutive book of the week with which school sent my son home to practice reading and the family it’s about is black.
“Here’s a supercluster of 100,000 galaxies.”
Melanie and Matt drove past their potential client’s house, a white stucco tear-down on a lesser street in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the country.
I liked cooking meat over coals outside on the patio barbeque for the taste and the smoky flavor and of course less kitchen mess.
None of the men in my wife’s family ever changed a diaper. Not one. Not ever.
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