Tonight I’ll get my supper at Mr. Longman-the-Publisher’s.” In today’s #StorySunday USA, we’re off to early 19th century London for a dinner party with Walter Scott.
Today’s Story Sunday USA takes us to 1940s Seattle, for a tale of two sisters and resiliency.
Lucy knows all these things about him, and more. She keeps them filed away in a special part of her brain, the part of her brain that deals with difficult ...
He doubts if moving in with her might have felt too natural a course to take. Natural enough for him to forget when. And he doubts he’s the only guy ...
Without money or connections, what value did his friendship have? But the analysis changed if he’d transgress on Conor’s behalf. His transgressions would make him complicit.
Narratives. It was all about narratives.
My noise broke the stillness and the twittering, croaking, and cricking of the woodland residents started up again. I’d never had that happen before, but I hoped it was a ...
There are moments, situations, that define relationships, when there is a rightness between two people – the way that a society host and hostess, cold-shouldering each other for months, would ...
Toward the end, Ben had taken to carrying a photo of himself in his wallet. On the surface, he knew it seemed an act of extreme and unfounded vanity but, ...
Back inside the tavern, the dining room had grown dark and empty except for a handful of guests at the far end of the bar where a muted green light ...
“There aren’t any seats left and standing people have already taken up a lot of the wall space. I stand in front of a table pushed against the corner.”
“Empty, she wrote, even though it wasn’t an improvement, because sometimes she just wrote what she saw.”
She ran from this loneliness all the way to Italy, hoping it wouldn’t find her there.
In 15 minutes a dead man would walk through the door and have a seat at the booth.
It’s my job to try to figure out what would feel like justice to her and the victim’s loved ones.
Sometimes what I thought was the end was only a pause.
He turns into the hallway, walks its length, then grabs the gold knob on the storage room door. Locked. He walks back to the men’s restroom. Also locked. He knocks.
The day was beautiful. Perhaps it was a good day to die for the right reasons.
I knocked at every registered address on the island that ever voted Democrat. And with it, experienced the culture of Galveston like accidentally swallowing the Atlantic ocean instead of a ...
Photo by Eric and Mary Ellen.
So the teaching associate, we called him “Teach,” but we meant no disrespect by that, it’s just that the name sort of fit because he’s ...