AB Intra

And there was once a party where a mother showed up at pickup time drunk and stoned on tramadol, and wove around the park in her high heels like a wasted fairy princess before falling asleep in the sand under the sliding board. — GREENBERG

The protesters stopped marching. They were in front of the Capitol. They climbed onto one another’s shoulders until they reached the night sky. — RIDGE & BOSWORTH

The under being, as my boss had reiterated multiple times, had to be a signature piece of work. As far as I was concerned, it was just another paranormal sort of cable thing involving a murky plotline having to do with mutants and interspecies inbreeding, but I would do my best, all the same. — PARK

The falseness of those painted-on mosaics bothered me. I wanted to see the ancient church one last time, from the outside, to remember its looming bell tower and solid walls, the way the ground lights shining on the old brick radiated an amber glow, and not think about those painted-on mosaics inside. — SHOEMAKER

The promise of notes that would say some or all of what there was to say about that longing and lost opportunity, that vanished era of his life, and might cause time to slip its bounds so he could fly back there. He was sure it was possible. It had to be. If you could feel it in the music and in the euphoria about to trip him over into its embrace, was it not real? — SPATZ

There was a spot where the cats could get from the wall onto a rain gutter and ascend onto the roof. This was like simpler times, when Bellacqua and Ragwell spent their time on burglary patrol, “walking a patch” together. Bellacqua missed those nocturnal perambulations, nabbing felons who stole lead off church roofs — crimes easy to comprehend. — WARNER

The ride was a magnet pointed forward, running along the rail-hard pull of his curiosity. He was off to inhabit the Underworld, to see what form the shades had assumed. He would move, unseen, among them, and then return to the world of the living. — WIRICK

Fleas feasted on our legs, ankles; their bites turned into scars, as would the deep cuts on the soles of our feet from broken glass hidden in the sand, like the scars on our concrete-scraped knees. These were only some of the imprints that branded us. — KRAMER

But the thing with fresh heavy grief is that it sits on the tongue, leaving this bitterness in the mouth like metal, and you want to scream it at everyone, want to give them a little taste, want to howl it from the hood of your car in the parking lot and smash your windshield with a snow shovel as men and women stuck in rush hour traffic have no choice but to witness. — FARMER

In a sense Andre was already just a memory, an electromagnetic pulse that would be passed across synapses, from neuron to neighboring neuron, inside the left and right hemispheres of someone’s brain, until there was no one left on earth that could conjure him. — EFFRESS

We consoled ourselves as well as we could, given the thin mattress on the primitive iron bedstead. Well enough that within six months old lady Gummell threw us out, after complaining about immoral pounding noises. Seriously? Come on, why did she put a rental bedroom right above her own, if not out of prurience? — GROSSMAN