He's sitting up a few rows from me, facing the opposite direction, so I can only see him at an angle, over his left shoulder. He's wearing a flat brimmed, brand-name baseball cap, turned slightly to one side. The panels, crown, and bowl of the cap are molded to his head shape, and worn from…
I have found little distinction between better writing and more honest writing.
The best time to read is night, the best time to write is morning, and the best way to focus is quiet.
A mother, of three at least. I only see the three. All boys, they run around the small area between seats and all talk at once. Their love and respect for her is as clear as their propensity to not listen well, both shown in their attention given to her just as they disregard her…
Dangerous, using the same word to describe lasting fulfillment as with someone who happens to be smiling.
Trying to always be happy is the most futile effort--an impossibility with the promise that you will ever again think only one kind of thought.
Nothing about him strikes the imagination, which is why I force myself to look. His blue, collared long-sleeve is tucked into khaki pants. The shirt fits well, but is not tailored, and I assume the pants are straight-fit. He wears glasses, as a constant fixture I would guess, from the the thin wire rims inconspicuously…
So happens, there are infinitely more wrong words than right ones.
The Right Words exist for everything.
Her makeup and her hair don't match. The hair is thin, and graying through the artificial coloring. Her hairline is receding, from age and stress, from the cumulative days she's spent scraping it back, ripping the follicles from the scalp one by one. Today she's pressed it back with a band, opening the curtains on…