I like doors open. Glass doors are good too. See through.
I’ve finally come to terms with our house guests.
We were clipping along one of our county’s great paved back roads when we saw it, green plastic gleaming in the setting sun.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
They sit on my desk, like four weird sisters, and watch me as I write, reminding me of Goldie Hawn and Meryl Streep in the campy Death Becomes Her.