While the witness was describing the perp, he thought that surely he’ll get caught, sketch or not. All that’s needed is to put a description on the APB: “male, medium size, face like a arch-villain.”
She was bucktooth and had a face like milk and her hips sang and all the boys wanted to be with Momma, but she didn’t want any of them, and she would run from them and call them lil’ boys, and everybody knew that, but the boys still kept coming.
Why are they sitting with their backs to the window? Don’t they know better? Haven’t they read “The Official CIA Manual of Trickery and Deception”? Or is the notion of martyrdom something they are toying with?
His attitude turned to one of amazement when he walked out of the hotel and into the crisp morning. Seoul’s tired streets now looked like Fifth Avenue. Here was a Benetton, nearby a Coach, and a Starbucks on every corner. America, with its potholed roads, crumbling buildings, and panhandlers, was a second-class country in comparison.
Whenever the mega millions reached 100 million, a bunch of us in the office would start a pool: Dana in Communications, Angela in Programs, Umang the web guy, Barry in Finance, and me in IT. We didn’t tell the managers. They made too much money. …
This is the first thing you think as you crawl out of bed, the noonday sun beginning to warm the room. A breeze pulls little eddies of air into circulation, stirred by all the vague pressures like heat and the density of pollution. The smell of depression-sweat and rotten fruit floats around, but you don’t gag like you used to.