The second house on the left. If the door is blue, you're welcome. Red, you've come too early. Green, too late.The meaningless chant comes to me whole. I can't remember where I've heard it, but I also ... [+]
The second house on the left. If the door is blue, you're welcome. Red, you've come too early. Green, too late.The meaningless chant comes to me whole. I can't remember where I've heard it, but I also ... [+]
"I killed a man before, you know."It's 3:12 pm, an awkward time for us to be preparing food. I'm not sure if we're making a late lunch, an early dinner, or just afternoon tea. I've been struggling to ... [+]
The moments of lucidity were rarer and rarer, but when they came, he regaled me with tales of swallowed teeth, basement brawls, and AIDS tests administered at midnight in ramshackle midtown health ... [+]
My husband's nose changed first—a nearly imperceptible spot-the-difference puzzle on a face I'd known for twenty-two years. Through our kitchen's bay windows, the morning sunlight highlighted his ... [+]
Mamma always had a love for other people's possessions. One of my earliest memories is walking to the park, my hand firmly tucked into hers. I was an impulsive child, and likely would have darted into ... [+]
We are simple people. For us, fulfillment comes from hammering a piece of iron into a useful shape; from plowing the black soil for the new crop; from kneading the dough for the bread we all need. My ... [+]
There's nothing I love more than eating. Mmm, yes. Fat Boy loves a good meal. I enjoy the crunch, the squish, even the quietest sizzles as I grind every little particle between my molars. I cherish ... [+]
The liftoff is like an elevator. You know that feeling you get when you're going up? Like your stomach is getting left behind? It feels like that. Remember when we were kids and we were staying at ... [+]
There is no cheerful clatter of pans, or old Beatles records spinning in the living room. No warm cinnamon smell fills the air – only burnt coffee. For a moment, I'm half expecting Papa to swoop me ... [+]
Fred is an arsonist—and, Fred is not an arsonist. Let me explain: Fred has thought of fire, its power and grace, for a long time. Perhaps since he was a child. He often watched fires, mesmerized by ... [+]
January 26, 1906Forty-seven days have passed and the bananas in my kitchen are still green. They remain untouched and unmoved since I brought them home from market. To my eye they appear ordinary in ... [+]
"It's an old building," Becky said, when Peter asked her. "Do you get them in your apartment, too?" She'd given him a look, then, as if she thought he was trying to score an invite into her place, as ... [+]
My new neighbor was a hoarder. She hoarded everything. Crystals, pink bakery boxes—she even took in children. Each one was flawed: too restless, not bright enough, a daisy-shaped head. The sound of ... [+]
The seventh day in my new flat, I found a worm in the fridge. It was flat, black and dead. I quite like interesting animals, but not this one – it looked remarkably like a leech. Where had it come ... [+]
It had been nearly fourteen years, but there you were on my morning commute. On your way to work like nothing had happened. Both of us on our ways to work as if nothing had happened. You looked good ... [+]