Hear the quiet incantation of the uncle in the corner, hear my own breath in prostration.
The senators, unceremoniously referred to as “The Boss” in most offices, might or might not receive the message.
There are about a dozen neighbours in the street now, almost all of us women.
Everyone started to yell at him.
Our league is called the “Downriver League.”
“Hallelujah,” she said the last word, drawing it out
We try to avoid those
My mother texted back the salivating emoji and asked me to save her some.