Genesis One

“I didn’t notice that she was beautiful or graceful or poetic or made in the image of God. That was my downfall. Even more than the drinking. That is what cost me the love of my life, pastor. If there is anyone you love in this life, don’t be blind to her virtues.”

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Black and White

"How many of these people are going to commit crimes?"

“One hundred percent of them that get desperate enough,” Harlan said. “And if you grow up huffing paint because your crack whore mama won’t share her stash, you’re likely to get desperate."

“Yeah but it’s not like they’re stealing bread. Those punks who filleted that dog in the park last week? They weren’t desperately poor. They were just assholes."

Harlan took another bite of taco. “I’m not sure there’s much difference, partner." 

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America

Zach felt a bolt of panic, as if the whole experience was about to leave forever. As if his memory of double-bagged America and all the significance it carried was leaving with that blue sedan.

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One Lost Bird

He knew these men hadn’t nursed quail with cracked corn and cattle panels. He knew they had never paid Mexicans to drive the dirt roads around their land at night with spotlight and varmint gun, and hang as many coyotes as they could kill on the fence posts. He knew these men were in their shiny Dallas office buildings on the day in September when he sat in an idling tractor looking over this strip of sagebrush and pondered for several minutes before deciding to forego the income a crop might have produced here. The farmer knew these men would always come west, and their dogs would always be fresh.

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A Portrait Of the Artist

Stacy got me in a way that Ally didn’t. I used to daydream about Ally seeing my potential some day. I used to imagine that she would find a treasure trove of notebooks and unpublished manuscripts after I died. I was never sure, in those dreams, how I died. Something heroic. And tragic.

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Mirrored

When the Jaguar crushed the front quarter panel and snapped the from axle of the Meunster's Honda, Lisa was pushed forward and to the right against the passenger door, and the eyelash curler, one metal ring still looped around her finger, was jammed between the door handle and her neck. 

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Union Jack

Brice tried not to think of that room, of the flag hanging flaccid and transfixed above him. The starter was speaking now. The countdown would come soon, but in the flag-lined lane of Birdcage Walk he could only see the scene of his misery: the night he and his father both discovered what Brice had long suspected — the night his father found him perusing a magazine titled Union Jack

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