What at first sounds like the wind crying resolves into choir music broadcast on a radio in a waiting room down the hall.
She makes short videos of evil twins leaping out of mirrors and people finding an intruder in the closet as they tour their new home. I'm cast in several roles. My favorite is the one where I get stabbed with a plastic pineapple and deliver a monologue for the ages.
All of the commuters packed, flesh to flesh, turn the subway car into a sausage link.
He continues to be fanatic about how normal he is. His way is the one true way of normality.
Waiting for the elevator, stone-faced as a Buckingham Palace guard, while a neighbor and her child scream at each other a few feet away.
Pleasure from a potato's crinkly gold skin.
In her marriage, she's a courtier. Dressed in elegant fabrics that pool on the floor as she bows and scrapes.