So trite, my boss, balding, puts his hands on my shoulder while I am processing words instead of word processing. 

People did not know when Old Peng started fortune telling at the stall in the market, but there he was, every morning, with four stools, a perpetual calendar, two pens, a compass, and a cup.

I have wanted to tear away my skin, cell by cell, for as long as I can remember.

All of the stories of grim reapers, demons, shinigami, or gods of death are false. Angels are all that await humans in the end.

The first eight months of 2019 bring Chicagoans a minor celebrity, claiming he is the victim of a racist hate crime, a five-foot alligator nicknamed Chance the Snapper

On campus, they saw one another at the same time, looking away, then re-entering each other’s line of sight, feeling held by each other.