Me and my best friend hung out every night on the streets, smoking cigarettes and talking to older boys in cars.
Matt sneezed all over the pig fetus and then wiped his nose with his glove covered with formaldehyde and who knows what viruses.
My elementary school invited me in for an assembly before I was set to leave. Kids made banners and gave me good luck cards.
She sat on the bench and watched the sun drip into the ocean. Barefoot couples stood on the beach and clicked their wine glasses in a toast to another beautiful day . . .
Detective Mark Wheeler lay on the grass. The ground chilled his bones as the fog rolled in.
Ah, those eyes. You look into them, and you still see the fire, at least for a little while . . .
I pass Elaine the banana bread. Oh, I’m sure she’s had a trying week, I tell her, clucking in sympathy, listening like the good friend I am . . .
These punks sure picked an appropriate place to play at the apocalypse . . .
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