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I love talking to girls. That’s why I’ve written so much about them.

It suddenly seemed to her that the world was filled with little miracles. There were moments when love overcame her despair.

My mother was dead. Almost a month she was dead, killed by me.

He betook himself to the metropolis to become a literary man, of course.

I walk across the fields with only a few young cows for company.

The graffiti suggests the most essential story of New Haven.

A finger on the bell, a quick sprint on light feet, and then stifled laughter.

Even then (Colin remembers now), it felt like the end of something.

Insomnia! There is a sickly romance to the affliction—initially.

I’d make a tub of mud to keep live crabs. I’d refill it daily.

Teams spend days surveying the damage and label me a mess.

Navigating the trailer park at night felt like a raid on a strange village.

Goretti was a victim perfect for her time, an icon of Catholic sexual politics.

She takes her shirt at the waist and pulls it up slowly: her hips, belly, bra.

Dance with you? I said after a moment. That’s your dare?

She was gone then, inaudible, steeple-reticent, demure as sky.

I understood that life could end without warning, even young lives.

Joshua was well versed in things to which I was not yet privy, like sex.

Is there some one way a guy should be on his wedding day, dickwad?

Our neighbors the Bells are watching, watching us when we play outside.

Mom often went to work on her days off. The library was her refuge.

The beer and the kissing and the lateness of the hour had got to me.

Now he was all out of dreams, out of rage, expectations, and money too.

I found a lodestone & I went to the creek & I buried it in the creek bed

How can we go on believing each day won’t be the one that flames out?

Did Sharon and Roy make it harder or easier for their mother to leave?

I received a surprise invitation to a tryout camp at Ebbets Field.

We’d open our mouths and sink, trying to make an ocean of ourselves.

My mother taught me to rebel within the boundaries of acceptability.

cannibal chowder and a kiss by the splashing voices of a pool