Failure is the story, but the story itself is also failure.

He is swimming downhill, backward through time. 

I found out only later that when my ma called Ensign Wang a lunatic, she’d meant it literally—he really was a mental patient.

My colleague Alassio is the only person left at the school where I teach who believes that the working class is the engine of history.

They were in the smaller, formal mess⁠—far enough off the main grid that you could forget for a second that you were living at the end of eight miles of tunnels.

Before the crash, they’d had different ideas about their own resilience, and each other’s.

He didn’t drink because he was an alcoholic, and he didn’t write poetry because he wasn’t good at it.

By the time we finally reached the Castro, I genuinely believed Anne had gotten rich off being gay alone.

It is very cold outside, though less so inside the car, it seems, with the kufiyya lying across the dashboard, forming a coiled snake ready to strike.