“Go to Goldman’s Greenhouses. Joseph … will start you … at a buck sixty an hour.” His lungs empty of smoke, “Go talk to him. He’s your uncle. He’ll hire you.

A semi-barbaric king devises a semi-barabaric (but entirely fair) method of criminal trial involving two doors, a beautiful lady and a very hungry tiger.

Mimosa Mitchell was an 85-year-old “pillar of the community” and matriarch of one of the most prominent families in Petunia Springs.

I feel the laboured contractions of your heart, pounding to maintain my mirrored beat, as you toil to grow me in time

The thunder in the rolling blanket of clouds marked a season of cleansing, a time of remembrance. It was also a time of death. The Sailor knew that well.

I had known Bill for five years but had never seen him outside the office. “Don’t you find that strange?” Annie asked me one evening.

There’s all these picturesque poems, anecdotes about scattering loved ones’ ashes. Things meant to be profound, symbolic.

It had been a week since I'd last left the house. I'd barely made it back last time.

After such a pleasant stay at the conference in New Mexico, where his talks had gone well, and everyone had been so kind, it was distinctly uninspiring to fly home to a wife whose love for him had long been in doubt.

“We could go to Principle Martin’s office right now. An offense like this would lead to a week suspension at best. Pick up the pen and write.” I sighed and wrote, “Montgomery Sanchez. May 29th, 2005.”