I hardly ever go for a stroll. Where? How? “Along the winding country road?” Pure fantasy. You mean the little bits of gravel sprinkled on the shoulder? If I have to leave the house, to stretch my legs or pop in on the neighbors, I make the sign of the cross and scurry as fast as I can—hoping to God the drivers will see me in my little orange hunting cap. But it’s just hit or miss.
On maximizing your time in solitary confinement.
Somehow, you used to be able to get away with using Facebook as an emotional outlet; by putting your rambling tidbits of melancholia in quotation it seemed plausible that you were just quoting Sylvia Plath.
I don’t know her but I guess I just didn’t picture the two of you ending up together. Not that I ever took time out of my own life to picture you or something.
He felt they were speaking directly to him. Obviously, they had noticed him and, in their own subtle, feminine way, they were inviting him to approach.
“The situation under discussion bears few distinguishing characteristics from that of the historical reality of pre-war Poland.” (Duh.)
I know it sounds too good to be true. It’s like the world has thrown you a stag party as your punishment for failing to measure up. What’s the catch?
What had she accomplished? There was no internet startup, she had not travelled to Africa, and she had not founded an NGO.