I wanted to express to him what he could do with his insights into my performance (that expression involving several of my favorite words, along with some vigorous and graphic hand gestures), but I decided that since we were in a high-culture atmosphere that I shouldn’t go ghetto on him.

He was in his early thirties, everything was behind him now, he was in the epilogue of his life, and there were still so many years to get through.

Nestor turned on the truck, put it into gear, and started off toward Morelia. The tires kicked up dirt and Benjamin looked at his aunt and uncle start to fade in the dust and mist.

I'm so proud of my big bro right now. Recognize.

I close my eyes
she's somehow closer now

Here’s what you do: get yourself some really good speakers for your car and then crank them as high as they’ll go, get the car going really fast (it’s probably a good idea to do this only late at night, and then probably only out in the country), roll down your windows so that the wind is whipping into the car, and sing along as loudly as you can.

Seven hours until they drove away. Ten hours until their plane lifted off of Mexican soil and he was free. The plane would cross into America and his life would be restored.

The following is part of the second stanza of a poem entitled Into the Fog. I've been stuck for a third stanza for almost two years now, but I'm waiting patiently for inspiration.

I was as happy as a little girl whose parents chose not to go through with the divorce.

Under the command of President Bush's two senior political advisers, the White House rolled out a plan this weekend to contain the political damage from the administration's response to Hurricane Katrina.