I remember the first time I took Dean to the old wooden dock at the end of Oak Street. We were seniors in High School and he had just started to call upon Ms Laurel Frank. It was the first really warm day of spring and I decided to show him how to haul the haddock nets out of the water. My brother Seymore had left two nets down near the dock when he left for Easton the previous fall.

Victorian Profanity

I did not come here for the sake of vanity.

Did he eat the Blarney Stone?

And they'll say "Hey, look at the guy with the wrinkled sweater, let's not give him any of our gold."

When I go I will leave some loose ends, some things undone. I suspect I am not in the majority for expecting this, but is this prospect so awful?

In our Western Desert, Lance Corporal Peterson was the end all, our only source of rational sanity and our only chance for survival.

Roy stood up abruptly with a hard look on his face.

"You just pissed in the soup. STOP PISSING IN THE GODDAMN SOUP!"

Food is the social currency.

So there I was in the bookstore when this guy wearing a red purse pulls a large medicine bottle and a sock out of the purse. Oh wait, that was me.

Gridley pulled a flask out of his pocket.

The chef was arthritic, with one bad eye and one really bad eye.

50 yards of awesomeness.

"If they know that..." Roger grasped for words. "That means - they can see us. How can they see us?"

Ah, how high is the ecstasy of a new discovery.

Walter insisted that he was able to play the banjo despite having never touched one.

Morris pulled violently on the pole while the small boat pitched in the open sea. His line snagged in the reel and then broke as the beastly fish pulled him overboard.

"You're no gentleman!"

He stood, his hands no longer shackled to the oar. The revolt on the galley began this way.

The laughter of the Kookaburra was infectious.

The first death is in the wanting.
The second death is in the having.
The third death is in the losing.