Sleeplessness chases me throughout the week, catching and dragging at each day and leaving the nights unsettled.
She's shuffle-dancing with sparkling sneakers on a dark street.
The book club meets in a mildewy room that's washed of color by fluorescent lights.
A large, shimmering, melting moon glimpsed in the early morning at the end of the street, over the slate gray river.
When he suffers anxiety over a trivial issue, he needs to remind himself to consider the true source of his fears. It isn't the triviality. That's only a mask for the larger, deeper thing that gnaws at him.
Her story is a dead horse flogged with angst. Tens of thousands of words of angst: fire, deaths, abuse, amnesia, comas. She's dragging her characters by the heels through hot coals across a continent.
Each time she plucks a string on her guitar, there's a sensation of a raindrop landing in my mind.