Dwight hovered in front of the vending machine. Oversalted chips, over-sugared candy bars, or the caloric emptiness of gum. Why did the hospital offer such faux nutritional alternatives; wasn’t that a conflict of interest? When he was a kid, vending machines meant something exotic or exciting. The rare trips to Father’s workplace had always involved
The degree to which a gentleman reveals himself to another is a curious state of affairs at the best of times, though I suppose the holding of a razor to one’s throat helps. That said, I doubt anyone would be the slightest bit surprised at a gentleman’s willingness to betray the confidence of another, whether
Maureen decided we’d redecorate the lounge. Our decor was no longer “chic”. I didn’t know what that meant but I argued it was quite chic indeed if it meant I didn’t have to tear up a perfectly good shag carpet. “It’s very ‘65, you know,” she said with disdain as if ’65 was universally agreed
“I need your eyes,” Ben said, scanning the road through the windshield. “You’re supposed to be the navigator and you’re not paying attention.” And then, under his breath, “like usual.” In fairness, she wasn’t. Amanda was watching a huge group of blackbirds alight from an electrical line, together, a living swirl of beaks and feathers,
‘Monty, climb down. This instant.’ The smooth blonde crown of his head visible through the dark spikes, Monty is halfway up the monkey puzzle tree that stands by the school pitch. From his look-out, he can see the mini red rugby shirts of his classmates, bulldozing about. ‘Sir, did you know that even a tap
When Josh knelt and presented the ring, the first question Hélène considered – other than the obvious – was, “am I going to have to kill his mother?” So far she’d mastered her rage. Three years of the relationship, two and a half trying to extricate him from the strange, devious little woman who bore
Everybody I knew liked Herb Alpert. It is possible to have had an absolutely awful childhood and yet to have been happy. There were influences. All of the girls in my fifth grade wanted to kiss my classmate because he looked like Paul McCartney. I stole Beatles’ cards to give to a girl. Martin Luther
Joe and I worked together forty-one years and for the most part we never disagreed. Normally after one of our interviews I would look over at his sheet of paper and see the same boxes checked off, then down at the bottom I would see that he too had circled TERMINATE or that he too
“Shit.” I briefly glance down at my watch as I sprint through the Tube station. I’m late and getting later. I missed the first train by a second. I arrived just as the doors were sliding closed and I could do nothing about it. I knew I was fucked as soon as I saw them
It isn’t blind adrenaline or fury that drives her but a kind of flat blackness, a steady humming like the engine, somewhere deep in the gut. Nelly gurgles in the baby seat behind her and when she looks at her in the rear-view mirror she catches her own eye, black and swollen. The last time,
