The anti-theft alarm echoes. She fumbles as the baby cries. A formula can falls from her coat. Bystanders avoid her eyes. He offers to pay.
Not only did Tom take off with the till, he left us a $60,000 tax bill, stripping the Chrome Cafe, and our friendship, of its shine.
He made her an oil painting of their love and loyalty, which she secretly sold to buy herself a diamond ring.
Marriage is not for everyone, she thinks as the blood drips on the kitchen tiles. A dishwasher, however, everyone should have one of those.
We have ways of making you talk, said Steinbeck. And in front of Grey, upon a small, raised stage, seven milkmen began slowly to disrobe.
Turning out lights to see the stars through the window, she said to herself, “I love winter’s darkness.” “Me too,” he said from the shadows.