“What time is it Marshall?” It’s half past two. “How cold?” It’s cold enough. “Is he still out there Marshall?” I reckon he’s watching us right now, Davey.
My sister still sleeps in the hospital as I await my father’s phone call. There’s a cloud covering so thick, all flights have been canceled.
“If it were me, I’d break those kids’ fingers,” he said, snapping an apple core in half and forcing it into the drain.
This jungle is a living creature. The cicadas buzzing. The birds chirping. It’s near impossible to sleep at night. The air is so humid you could swear it’s raining.
I lay silent on his couch in the middle of his living room and watch a fly wander from the television to the window, unsure of which glass to break through to return home.
Do you remember when we were just starting out?” She asks as they get into bed. Blue light from the television screen drapes over the furniture and casts shadows along the far side of the room.
The next time you can’t sleep, take a nice hot shower.
It’s Sunday night, cold, when Claire returns from her father’s funeral.
“Sometimes I think we’ve already dreamed everything there is to dream.”
I was 15 years old when I encountered my first hipster in the wild.
Most days it’s hard to wake up. That’s how you know you’ve buried something — when you sleep, it sleeps with you.