Randy lay there like a slug. It was his only defense.
Some men are Baptists, others Catholics; my father was an Oldsmobile man.
The reality of what we really are is often times found in the small snips, way down at the bottom of things.
A man today never feels so alive as when he is hurtling from one point to another on the azimuth.
There are fewer things more thrilling in life than lumpy letters. That rattle.
Manhattan cabs are born old.