“You’re a good Samaritan in search of trouble,” my wife often said.
They were crouched behind a canned tuna pyramid at the back of the store, the lone survivors of a mid-afternoon monster massacre.
My name is Renfield, and to my knowledge, all of what I am to say is true.
He had long given up on putting full clown makeup on before going to work.
We did a walking tour earlier, so I count myself lucky it was dry until now.
I know you think that you’re in love, and you probably are.
Four months into unemployment, my spirits were low enough already.