He introduces himself by one name and gives me a business card with a different one. "They're both my names, in a way," he says without further explanation.
Windswept park benches are my new favorite place to read.
It feels good to talk to someone who understands family dysfunctions and can laugh about them mirthlessly with you.
They press against the tables and gouge the food platters.
She's a shrewdly cute old woman, but it's easy to imagine her fifty years younger, lording it over her children, deflating them.
Her apartment contains antiques, stained glass, and undisturbed shadows.
We drag our chairs out into the sunlight and talk about how to be inspired.