I am chocolate man looking at blue man flashing his lights as he stops milk chocolate woman and light cafecito man.

It hadn’t occurred to Michael that his head might get stuck.

Arriving home in his private plane from an L.A. movie set, Rick can almost fool himself into thinking that he is famous.

The big clock on town hall marks the hour, the bells inside ringing and ringing.

It is the spring of 2007, and I have traded in my solitude for friendship.

It breaks like this: We hold on tightly, and literally, because we’re young and we’re stupid and because we still want to have hope.

For six days after the operation, everything was blue.

The purple haze of Jupiter surrounds us in its cool-toned glow.

From my desk, I watch her turn the pages. She is meticulous, each touch / feather-light and exact in her dissection.