Yes, I’m—well, I’ve been trying to do just that, Jackie, if you would give me the time to actually speak and address your questions without—okay, well then if you’re going to insist on interrupting me each time I try to speak, then we’re not going to get very far unraveling anything having to do with
Voices woke Theo from his sleep. He did not know from where they came, but they left him awake, glaring at the darkness in his tent. He went outside at once. Sand and dunes filled the night. There was no one in it. The Bedouins lived away from him, on the other side of the
Midnight found Eriko clicking away mercilessly on the icon above her in-tray. An email appeared Subject-line: Do Message: Hot sent by Hitokoto-san, Mr. One-Word. What everyone called the Weather Editor. Obeying the command, Eriko finished analyzing the raw data and used every remaining minute for writing and micro-editing. The afternoon edition would report that during
Her face has always been as familiar to me as my own. But this time, on the bus to the airport, I almost don’t recognize her. Then Alexis turns and pulls off her shades. Alexis starts telling me, unprompted, about her capture in Syria. She feels like honey when she talks, all teeth and pleasantries.
Lemuel ran his thumb over the etching on the back of the Rolex. Even before the images fully formed in his mind, he knew this guy was going to pay the asshole tax. After all, the reason the nervous white man needed cash—the abortion would cost two thousand dollars—had nothing to do with the loving
Today being one of her Duty days, Matilde Fassett had risen early. The sky was already solid blue and even at this early hour the heat outside was rising uncomfortably. Inside, it was bordering on chilly, Adam probably doing his usual trick, dutifully clicking the air-con down an extra couple of degrees. She found him
Chandelier poets sip crystal absinthe lounging within the walnut panelled walls of the cafe Jardines des Tuileries nestled within the 17th century mansions of Le Marais. Tinkling glasses, heavy feet of panting waiters mixed with the refined voices of bourgeois decadence amalgamated into a glossary of sound deciphered by the ear drums of a wolf.
Iola Reynolds steps into the bay of her bedroom window from where the funeral goers will see her strip. Undeterred by the gauze-like layer of dust from the crematorium smokestack already clinging to the windowpanes, she presses ahead with the striptease, angling her body towards a Mercedes Benz hearse that crawls cockroach-like towards her window.
Will returns my bright-eyed stare. The printers ran out of paper a half hour ago, and we’re standing beside each other, wondering what’s going to happen next. This is exactly how the world will end, I think—not with a bang or a whimper, but when the machines suddenly can’t print any more tickets. Stars will
Danny follows me quietly along the corridor, half-amazed, saying nothing. I keep focusing on what we’re about to do and avoid turning around to look at him because that’s when I’ll get distracted and make a mistake. Danny’s tension fills the corridor like buzzing electricity. You’re crazy, he thinks at me. I know, I think