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Part of me wished I’d never tried heroin. The rest wanted to be high.

I had to prepare. I had to be able to save us from what was coming.

“I hope the scumbag rots in jail,” he yelled into the quiet night.

She had a situation where she’d lost her driver’s license for speeding.

His looks were Russian. He was surrounded by mystery.

If mine, then, is a religious Offence, leave it to religious Punishments.

The people flocked to witness the execution of Ja’afar and his kinsmen.

A charmed sequence of words. The jangle. The strum.

At a red light he touches his cheek. The stubbly skin is sensitive, febrile.

No parent has yet been born who can save a child from childhood.

He pushed aside a photograph of a man with a knife stuck in his eye.

When I think on it, I can’t believe I’m going to kill two people over weed.

You never see Westerners, so you don’t think of them as human beings.

Say what you will, a human being has the right to their own body.

We’d hit something in the dark which—bang!—was there and gone.

What’s the harm? Will you fight even the healing powers of love?

Fatwas condoned our arrest for the rouged contours of our lips.

“Who is it?” Irina asked at the door. “Open up,” a voice commanded.

And the starved heart starts over, writing one line at a time.

For the president’s arrival they shot two dogs making love on the tarmac.

I found Lowell’s gun a long time ago. He’s not a genius at hiding things.

“I don’t care how tired we are. I’m not not having sex on my wedding night.”

He twisted like a weasel in the sack, lashing backward with his fist.

The first murder had been a half dozen years ago in a warmer city.

There lay before us a bag that gave forth, at a touch, the jingle of gold.

“I can’t believe she’s drinking,” she said. “I just can’t believe it.”

He had looked on it a thousand times and it never failed to kill him.

Life is a dream, he thought. Something she knew and I didn’t.

“No, no,” we say. “We’re fine! Really! We love things just the way they are!”