Most of my decisions in life seem absent-minded but inevitable.
Deconstruction glorifies the critic, humiliates the author, and makes the reader wonder why he bothered.
The banker rubs his nose, thinking of his cat stalking something on the lawn.
Victimization has its privileges, and I want some.
Middle age went by while I was mourning for my lost youth.
The sewing machine joins what the scissors have cut asunder, plus whatever else comes in its path.