Someday I think I’ll stay, and perhaps that will be the hardest choice of all.
When it is, in fact, your duty not to go anywhere, going to nowhere starts to look like going somewhere.
It’s been almost a month since I hopped on the 92 bus and sat next to my soccer teammate on the way to our game, both of us taking turns to explain why we’re running late this time.
No one has any idea what to do, and we’re all trying to use what we’ve got to make things work.
When confronted with a dozen or so unexpected snails, one faces questions of moral principle one never thought one would.
It’s tempting, as the writer, to make a trite connection here to challenges I have previously risen to (a potentially boring speech about crossword puzzles).
The first time I saw her, I was sitting on Cotter’s lap—he had been my best friend for probably six years at that point—at a meeting I crashed after coming home early from France.
If language has a glue, it’s social interaction.
Your urgent missile of alarm last night was most unprofessional.
Whoever said money can’t buy happiness clearly never bought a cozy cerulean sweater.