The Fiction Issue 2012
The word “unicorn” appears nine times in the Old Testament. And unless you’re an 11-year-old girl, you are well aware that if it’s got unicorns in it, it’s a fairy tale.
Mostly it’s no-accounts and old ladies that ride the bus in this city. Most are fat. You never see these kinds of people on television.
Our driver announced he had a copy of ‘Pájaro de Calor (Bird of Heat),’ the legendary literary artifact that is so rare it may as well not be real.
William was a puker. His expulsions—the color, consistency, and volume of a baby's—occurred after every sentence he spoke.
The less the poet wrote, the more books he bought. He was building a library for the person he wished he was. Or so he told himself.
Some books make us smile, others make us vomit.
I did not talk to my father for most of the last year he was alive. It was a form of self-preservation.
Sherlock Holmes was really a trigger-happy neighborhood watch member, kind of like George Zimmerman with an obnoxious accent.