A storm system was lashing North Dakota and Minnesota with snow, snow measured in feet, and was heading southeast, so Kat made the plane reservations in the cab to her Lincoln Park apartment, worried that the airport in Cherry City might close.

When not tending New York holdings, Guy Grand was generally, as he expressed it, “on the go.” He took cross- country trips by train: New York to Miami, Miami to Seattle—that sort of thing—always on a slow train, one that makes frequent stops. 

Recently I was researching an article for a woman’s magazine, whose considerate editor had already entitled it—Con-Men: Their Games And Their NAMES—aiming, with the final emphasis for a bit of the

A summer Saturday in Dallas and the boy Howard sat out on the back steps, knees up, propping in between, an old single load, twelve-gauge shotgun. While he steadied and squeezed the butt in one hand, the other, with studied unbroken slowness, wrapped a long piece of friction tape around and around the stock

Dr. Eichner was a man of remarkable bearing, slightly above six feet, slender, with well set shoulders and a magnificently grey, patrician head. He stood on the clinic’s shaded front veranda, waiting for his car to be sent around.

Sid Peckham and his wife were coast farmers and Sid was a veteran of World War II. They were eeking out the narrowest sort of existence on a little plot of ground just east of Corpus Christi, about an eighth of a mile from the Gulf.

The ridiculous “taxi” swerved clownishly into the drive way of number 29, neatly clipping a (no doubt) cherished bough of white freesia from its parent bush, the blanched and waxen bells evoking with their split perfume momentarily—but just momentarily—the sunlit riverbank of my childhood, with its cool ferns (mist, borscht, mother, midges) and rescuing from their lunatic perambulations my disordered thoughts, which, like so many crazed sheep, had been straying far from their comfy ancien regime fold ever since I set foot on this ridiculous continent.

Draw a circle of approximately one inch diameter in the center of your paper. Fill it in. This is your Speck and the sheet is now your Speck Sheet.

Change your thoughts and you will change your world. It’s guaranteed for ninety days. You can’t buy a man with a cup of coffee and a sandwich. Spread out mats for him. Offer him stools. Let the host present the cup, the guest will return it. 

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.