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there is no place on this earth I can run from my own prejudice

She had yellow cat eyes that she insisted were also blond.

Louise watched from the shadow. She was looking for somewhere to land.

The onus is on you, because you care about your car and your life.

While they stand in line Robin leans into his chest. They don't talk.

There isn’t a nice Jewish boy in sight—not that I’m looking for one.

Can there have been something in my letter, that unlucky letter?

Blame the juncos outside. Sopranos in one tree, altos in another.

The light is like a benediction. My husband reaches for my hand.

We’re stuck floating around on the surface of our lives like kids in a pool.

Best-selling author Melanie Gideon reads from her novel Wife 22.

I live for now in the second house of having asked a favor from a friend.

The window washer smiles a little and licks his lips. Nadine smiles back.

The nights she and Wade have sex she can’t do so without feeling guilty.

Of course she had known. Nothing in this life escaped her design. Everywhere, people ogled the ring. Everywhere, Emeline posted pictures.

A new Wyoming photography portfolio from Twister Marquiss

“Ki o tsukete!” she called, and he knew the words. Be careful.

The damn dog has been brainwashed. He doesn’t know
us anymore.

We began to obsess over water, where it came from, where it was going.

Her cheek was like a plum about to burst and you had to close your eyes.

You slouched on the couch, naked, in front of the air conditioner.

She was painting a bedroom, trying to be a good mother, wife, Catholic.