Rich man, poor soldier, spy and killer, they all wept like infants on my chest. Not bad for a girl who had 34As ‘til college. I want to tell my mother that, but she’s dead.
The full scale shape of a crushed and baled pickup truck (but not the truck itself) carved and etched from a twenty-eight-thousand pound block of stainless steel so that it would appear that there might be air in there but really it’s metal all the way down.
Rachael, you remember how we watched Fidel Castro speak about the five-year plan on TV in the hotel room in Playa Ancón Cuba in 2002. How in five years Cuba’s problems would be fixed and all would be well and all manner of thing would be well?
“I didn’t love Lance anymore,” Jenni moans, “but I didn’t want him to die like that. I didn’t want him to die with all that Goosedown and Gortex sucking the air out of his lungs and not giving any back.”
I’m well known by the police… It’s my ability to soothe murder victims’ animal companions (never use the word ‘pet’, it’s offensive) with the dulcet tones of my virtuosic euphonium playing that has me on the police department’s text alert system. Animal companions grieve, and euphoniums are well known for causing non-human animals to have the catharsis they need to move on with their lives.
I’d become accustom to being the only naked person in the room. After all, they had yet to invent invisible clothes, and throwing on a sweater would have right ruined the whole effect. They would have called me the Walking Cardigan, instead of something more dignified—like Disappearo, which I’ve been angling for.