“If you want to have a relationship with someone, you have to work on it,” Ingrid told Hopper. “Your trouble is that having friends is just not that important to you.”
“A friend of mine recorded an audio tour of the church,” she said. “You play a cassette tape, and you can follow along to learn about which popstars were discovered in which bathroom in the eighties, who f**ked who in which bathroom in the nineties, and which drug dealer was arrested in which bathroom in this decade.”
"Christmas? What's that? I guess that I we can do some kind of Facetime or Zoom with Birgit. Exchange gifts over Amazon. Pray that we stay healthy while we wait for the vaccine." The fourth installment of the short-story series, “The 12 Days of the Tilley-Blandin Coronavirus Christmas.”
On the day before Thanksgiving, while on their daily stroll through a section of Washington, DC that this nauseatingly cute, white hipster couple had dubbed the “Death Zone,” Silver Tilley-Blandin turned to her boyfriend Louis Guidry and said, “Your name came up again on the internet.” Thus begins the second installment of the series, “The 12 Days of the Tilley-Blandin Coronavirus Christmas.”
Life as you knew it – if you survive the pandemic – will return to forms changed but still recognizable to you. We will rejoice in the dread of going back to the office restroom.
Since tweendom, they shared secrets with each other to which no one else was privy. The Tilley-Blandin Sisters Secret File. Every year, over pizza at John’s of Bleecker Street, they shared a single new secret, ranked it compared to previous years’ secrets, wrote them down, and put them in a safe place.
Warerugoing? White House. Google Maps told you it is a 20-minute walk. It’s still OK to use Google. Amazon’s out. Google is still OK. Walkity-walk through our nation’s capital with all these early morning people walkity-walking to their important jobs doing important things for all the little people in BFE. Like you, the new White House press secretary.
Oscar Templeton and Lucinda Featherstone, who was known widely as LuLu, ate lunch at this ancient restaurant on Wisconsin Avenue because they were sure that no one they knew would see them.
Martin had found the photograph three years ago, while he was going through divorce. Though the photograph was yellowed with age and blurry, he could still discern his features and those of the two women. They had met on the beach in Naama Bay on the Sinai Peninsula in 1980.
Several years ago, Jazmine Hughes revealed “The Secret Fantasies of Adults” in The New Yorker (“Yes, The New Yorker”” which, while enjoyable for all readers, skews towards the feminine perspective. Here, for your consideration, are some thoughts lurking deep within the male psyche.