One writer’s fictions overlap, alarmingly, with reality.
Seven months into her husband’s depression, Diane called the church secretary. She wanted the elders to come over and anoint Mitch with oil.
Robert Reich returns from vacation strongly in favor of vacations.
I had hoped… for what? A game of Scrabble on the way down, or to get married, or at the very least to link hands with a serendipitous octet of fellow self-murderers–the drop had certainly looked big enough for such skydiving antics.