...called nine-one-one," Howie was saying, "and then I heard something in the alleyway, so I went back there and" --Howie coughed-- "and valiantly attacked his knife with my guts, to no avail." "Did you get a good look at him? Could you describe him?" Howie smiled wanly. "Yeah. He was about yay long" --he held up his hands, four inches apart-- "thin, made of steel. Pointy. Sharp.
Barry LygaCars are little privacy cocoons that we take with us. If you could refuel while driving you could, theoretically, stay moving forever.
Barry LygaThis is why I forgive, but I don't forget. When you forget someone, the forgiveness doesn't mean anything anymore.
Barry LygaHereโs the thing about baseball-itโs not the individual sport I thought it was. Turns out I was wrong about that. Yeah, the batter is a lone man against the world. He stands in the batterโs box like a soldier and itโs up to him-and him alone-what happens next. But hereโs the thing I didnโt understand until I was forced to, until recently: In order to hit a home runโฆ Someone else has to pitch the ball.
Barry LygaJazz spent a chunk of the day fantasizing about ways to kill his grandmother, plotting them and planning them in the most excruciating, gruesome detail his imagination would allow. It turned out his imagination allowed quite a bit. He spent the rest of the day convincing himself--over and over--not to do it.
Barry Lyga