We were strangers on the train, staring blankly at the dark glass, reflected in ebony sheets of remembrance. If I pressed my face to the pane, I could tell we were rushing by. But apart from a pale, flickering shadow on the window, we were nowhere.

“The earworms are the worst part,” she was saying.

Ivan looked up from his beer.  She was staring at him with a nervous half-smile, her eyes wide black holes in the dim of the bar.  Her fingers interlocked around a glass of cranberry juice that she still hadn’t brought to her lips.  “What?” he asked.

He did not covet gold or jewels, though he had won them.  He traveled only with the whetstone needed to sharpen his spear, and punished anyone who came near it.  He slept soundly, and when he dreamed of the faces he had killed they were all turned away.

Last week I met the President, and discovered I’m not cynical after all.  I’m as surprised as you are.

Preparing her dinner the other night, my wife was disappointed to notice that the “Sausage Rolls” she’d purchased from Zehrs contained “spicy chicken” filler. Apparently “Sausage Rolls” wasn’t meant to be read as an adjective modifying a noun but as a complete proper noun pertaining to a certain style or genre of substance-filled pastry. Because even though any type of animal may be ground up and stuffed into its own (or another’s too, I suppose) intestines, I believe the sausage default, as in when not otherwise specified, is pork.

The cliché “with eyes wide open” presents an interesting irony when instantiated physically and in a conversation about whether or not the Indians ever hung out with Jesus.  I’ll explain.

It’s a warm summer evening, the kind that radio loves. Down at Rochambo the tv is on the fritz, vanquishing CNN, ESPN, and a whole slew of letters. Lou, the regular, can be heard saying, “the way things are going these days, I don’t know whether to laugh or shit or go blind,” as bartender Marty futzes with a radio. It crackles to analog life. Old school country, and Brady (semi-regular) applauds. “This is a different station,” says Marty. Then the DJ mentions “Abilene” and Lou slurs, “shit, this is coming all the way from Kansas.” A beautiful anomaly, Brady thinks.