It tastes like this, he says, try it. He swallows more hotel pool water.
I wasnt bothered by the strangers who were carving hieroglyphics into my carpet with their cigarettes. My two social circles were mixing swimmingly and that was all that mattered.
I am not a real person. I am only words on paper. A narrator. A narrator of the first person variety. An invention. A fake. Or, if you prefer, an illusion.
While you read this your identity is being stolen, has been stolen. Before you were confident in who you were: you were yourself; before you were confident in who others were: they were themselves. You could not be them; they could not be you. Or so you thought until now when, you find, someone has broken the rules.
My new best friend had flown to Germany. Once again, the lure of the cash-stuffed envelope had proved irresistible.
All else failing, Jack drives to Maine in the hope of separating Molly from her kidnappers. En route, he is latched onto by a beautiful, predatory extra-terrestial named Mary who wants him to father her child. An auto accident in which Mary is nearly killed causes an apparent change of heart in Jacks seeming heartless companion.
The Inspiration That Made a Sculpture Garden Out of "The Insult That Made a Man Out of 'Mac'."
Every year people die, get crippled, or suffer deformities at Christmas. This year alone the cops nabbed twenty-seven tons of contraband fireworks, and more than three hundred people burned to death from those that got through. Mostly kids.
Ramón Antonio Jaramillo looked through Estrechos cemeteries, but had yet to find his grave. Until he did, he couldnt prove that he didnt die on Christmas Eve eleven years before.
Flapping his arms in widening, counter-clockwise circles, Richard Melville finds he can fly. It isnt really flying, though, more like some suspended animation catapult.