Hot wet tears run down my cheeks and under my collar.
stories
On Wednesday, I watched her steal a daylily from my garden.
Dante likes to tell stories.
I waited in line at the grocery store and stared at the tabloid magazines.
On the cusp of teenagehood, I was increasingly preoccupied with a search for the elusive Cool, and suspected that this exciting, slightly nauseating sensation in the pit of my stomach was it.
I wouldn’t go out of my way to befriend Virginie, but I’m flattered that she accepts me into her circle.
Marguerite had always feared dying in a fire.
