An example page
Being sick left her with nervous energy that came out as nailbiting. The things you think you're over.
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She hated cranberry sauce with a furious burning passion of a thousand suns combusting like volcanos simultaneously.
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The trees are leaning over / talking to each other / whispering / they're telling lies
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There was a kind of song, the Bad Halfway Song. The song that, at the beginning, you know you don't like but can't be bothered to change. Hell, you might even like it. But halfway through the song you get frustrated inexplicably by the repetition of the chorus, a particularly idiotic turn of phrase, and cannot stand to listen to ONE. MORE. SECOND. So it meant stretching to get to the tuning knob on the radio. So it meant walking across the room when you were comfortable in this seat right here where you were.
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There was something of a fantasyland about boarding school.
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She felt like her head had been cut off. She almost wished her head had been cut off. There was no point in opening her mouth; it was polite smiles from here on out.
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His name was Simon Kerskowitz, with more letters. It was one of those names with extra Cs and Ys that if pronounced phonetically seemed a long stutter.
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He didn't step into the wind when he rounded the corner, but into the wind's potential area, where a monsoon might hit if it were so inclined. A few small tufts hit his clothing, knocked him slightly but that was just a show of power. He could see trees buckling down the block.
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So many people on their lunch hour. Filling up the space and taking everything. Drinking in the air and I'm feeling weak in the knees. Filling the walls with their voices until my ears can't keep it out. They stick around forever because they can't bear to go home. Like little cars chugging uphill, against gravity, and all they want to do is slide down.
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She turned away toward the kitchen sink, her entire body shifting under the silk-thin cotton camisole that barely covered half her body.
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It wasn't that he turned her off. They just didn't have muchh in common. She didn't know him. He didn't turn her on.
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The cars are getting smaller / The gas is going down / The skirts are getting shorter / The world turns around / The nights are getting longer / The kids are getting fat / The phones are getting cheaper / But is it worth all that
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What time is it, I wonder / A little after seven / Time to fly
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Smile while you walk away
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What was she doing, inviting a man she hardly knew into her home? Next she would be asking him to see her etchings!
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There were a lot of words she did not say. When other people said something and her mouth was open to speak and the subject shifted around her and she closed it again. A lot of words she swallowed.
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She hated cranberry sauce with a furious burning passion of a thousand suns combusting like volcanos simultaneously.
---
The trees are leaning over / talking to each other / whispering / they're telling lies
---
There was a kind of song, the Bad Halfway Song. The song that, at the beginning, you know you don't like but can't be bothered to change. Hell, you might even like it. But halfway through the song you get frustrated inexplicably by the repetition of the chorus, a particularly idiotic turn of phrase, and cannot stand to listen to ONE. MORE. SECOND. So it meant stretching to get to the tuning knob on the radio. So it meant walking across the room when you were comfortable in this seat right here where you were.
---
There was something of a fantasyland about boarding school.
---
She felt like her head had been cut off. She almost wished her head had been cut off. There was no point in opening her mouth; it was polite smiles from here on out.
---
His name was Simon Kerskowitz, with more letters. It was one of those names with extra Cs and Ys that if pronounced phonetically seemed a long stutter.
---
He didn't step into the wind when he rounded the corner, but into the wind's potential area, where a monsoon might hit if it were so inclined. A few small tufts hit his clothing, knocked him slightly but that was just a show of power. He could see trees buckling down the block.
---
So many people on their lunch hour. Filling up the space and taking everything. Drinking in the air and I'm feeling weak in the knees. Filling the walls with their voices until my ears can't keep it out. They stick around forever because they can't bear to go home. Like little cars chugging uphill, against gravity, and all they want to do is slide down.
---
She turned away toward the kitchen sink, her entire body shifting under the silk-thin cotton camisole that barely covered half her body.
---
It wasn't that he turned her off. They just didn't have muchh in common. She didn't know him. He didn't turn her on.
---
The cars are getting smaller / The gas is going down / The skirts are getting shorter / The world turns around / The nights are getting longer / The kids are getting fat / The phones are getting cheaper / But is it worth all that
---
What time is it, I wonder / A little after seven / Time to fly
---
Smile while you walk away
---
What was she doing, inviting a man she hardly knew into her home? Next she would be asking him to see her etchings!
---
There were a lot of words she did not say. When other people said something and her mouth was open to speak and the subject shifted around her and she closed it again. A lot of words she swallowed.