But maybe it would be good in some way, this sudden death of his, maybe it would mean his son Jason would move back to town and stop chasing that stupid life as a YouTube street magician.
Transfixed by the odd turns and cadence of its speech, each day I set a timer and kept writing until the alarm went off. This approach no doubt held its roots in my background recording music: I thought of these writing sessions like performances, called “takes.”
This seems to make her feel better because she sucks the wing real good like she’s trying to make the bird cum while she tells me that she wishes her daughter was more like me, minus the whole losing my hair thing obviously.