Had I actually just dropped Leland? The red-winged blackbirds seemed to think so. . .
Teammates on the Watertown High hockey team called them The James Brothers. James Rogers was a blue-eyed white teenager while James Brook was the only African American on the team. The two friends were inseparable and after high school graduation, they decided to hitchhike together across the USA . . .
“We are not descended from fearful men,” the box filled with wires and lights says to her as she sits, waiting, on the anniversary. She stares into its eyes. This is the sign . . .
February is like Tuesday: second best, like me. January at least has the distinction of being first and has that New Year’s resolution hype going for it, and Mondays are loved for being hated. But February is just dirty snow with sky to match, and Tuesday is Monday’s everlasting yawn . . .
Fans of Ian F. Svenonius, take note: Ian is embarking on a nationwide tour to promote Censorship Now!!
She knew she was not his first. The concrete room contained evidence of several that had been here before her: photos, locks of hair, single earrings, fingernails . . .
Johnny was barely fourteen when he started drinking . . .
Green Lake in the hour before dawn: Seattle’s beautiful, teeming dark heart, its still surface broken only by the skittering of hundreds of phosphorescent coot feet, its quiet violated only by the self-conscious chatter of female walkers seeking fitness in cautious herds, or the indigestive squawk of a disturbed heron. A headlamped solitary jogger, disappearing into pools of darkness along the intermittently lit trail, then reappearing triumphant, steeled herself for the prolonged period of darkness that awaited her at the lake’s poorly illuminated southern end . . .