593

Velcro feet stick to rough grass – skrooch, skrooch, skrooch – pull back, pull down, slow, stall, sweat, quiver – Any tiny progress is good!

592

"Is it 'what you're eating' or 'what's eating you'?," he asked with wrinkled brow. "Same either way," I said, "fungus."

591

Words escape me ... literally. The little bastards keep slipping behind graphics and skittering off screen. I need a word swatter!

590

Too much. Much too much. Too much too much. Even enough is way too much. Shave some off the top, and it's still too damned much. Enough!

589

Once upon a time, a smiling zombie ambled about, amiably speaking and doing, oblivious to the huge hole where his heart had been.

588

Shark-bit man strides the mall, all smiles, arms pumping, a huge, toothy gauge in his side, trailing blood. Some notice – most not.

587

I cry from a well-bottom; only echoes reply. The light, beyond reach, is but a pinprick to the dark.

586

Today, I'd rather strap on dagger and sword, grab a faded cloak and satchel, and stride toward adventure in dark woods and high mountains.

585

Her hope is like a single sprouted grass sprung through a crack in an expanse of broiling blacktop.

584

"¿Que hora es?," pregunto. "¿Que hora es?" ¡La miseria! "¿Dónde está la biblioteca? ¿Y dónde está mi cerveza?"—Yo soy un estudiante español.

583

Two stalls diverged in a powder room and I, I took the one less tinkled by, and that has made all the difference!

582

Alone in the morning marriage bed, Pygmalion awoke to see her stony form, cold, turned away, unmoving.

581

In the well-deep, chill water waits black, hoards coins and lovers' tears. Cast your wish into the darkness, hear the echo, and wait.

580

There's a mouse in the house, a critter in the kitchen, a resident rodent, a sneaker sneaking my snickers. Maybe I'll buy him a collar.

579

This is photo is cracked and forgotten like an old tombstone. Everything – even love, even memory – fades to dust.