FRIEND: It’s nice to see so many people here at his service.
ME: Yeah, especially since no one ever came to his parties.

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You have likely heard the recent news involving my company, Gorgons Bluff Ltd. Perhaps you saw the schadenfreude-laced headline in the West Lancet Courier, “Birder Supplier in Deep Doo over Wrongful Death Lawsuit.”

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Robbie arrived early that morning, sore in back and stiff in shoulders with eyes itching red from the long night crossing through one flat state into another.

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Outside fogging car windows, empty parking lot lights glowed like part of a fairy world Keisha wasn’t allowed in.

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Most onto five hours ago, we come up to where Ryman’s bare-knuckle extravaganza will be fought. When Ryman seen them red-white-and-blue banners bearin’ his picture and nickname, “The Ozark Bull,” hangin’ everwhere, he says to nine-year-old Winder, “See what they done for your daddy?”

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The first time Arvid divvyed, he nearly killed his sister.

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In our strongest feelings can we find our truest selves.

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Let’s begin this story with a boy and girl in bed together. I think that’s a nice beginning.

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The night of the Waldendorfhouse meteor shower, my idiot boyfriend forgot to meet me at the Star Tower.

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The night before I killed Kevin Dillman, I sat at the kitchen table, spooning homemade macaroni and cheese with potato chips crusted over the top onto my plate.

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WIFE: When you look at your phone while I’m talking I feel like you don’t even care.
ME: I do care, sweetheart. I’m just not interested.

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In the course of research for this issue on passion, we discovered the following grant proposal in the federal government’s online record system.

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