Sometimes I develop a romantic notion in my head of a place – somewhere I have usually never even been to – which bears absolutely no relation to reality. Well, now it is the turn of Canada.
I am looking for the easy ability to strike up a conversation without ending up wittering something elaborately boring, or sensationalist, just because I have got carried away with the weirdness of being in a conversation.
I don’t always have the time to write a complete novel – it’s much easier to find the time to spit out a thousand words in the small spaces of time I have available to me.
Inside the metal carton were ribs, and they were my introduction. In retrospect they were very probably very bad, but we loved them.
The present exchange itself was far more fun than it had been in years, and the new format made that the case. We all got just the right amount of stuff, and our houses were not overburdened.
The anger of the extremes – the most certain in the least tenable of views – are the ones who have put us in this position. I am sick of them.
An omnivore has to eat everything, and not just be hooked on dead flesh.