Sunday, February 24, 2013
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Thursday, February 21, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
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Thursday, February 14, 2013
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Friday, February 8, 2013
Thursday, February 7, 2013
"Sometimes"
A Short Story by Ben McNutt
Sometimes a man drinks entirely too much tequila and finds himself in a dive bar in Pasadena singing Hotel California with a one-armed trucker named Pete Ravenski. And sometimes a one-armed trucker named Pete Ravenski turns out to be a real son-of-a-bitch.
Tequila. It’s a coy flirt on the way down and a real ball buster the morning after. You got hustled, asshole. And now your 1972 R75/5 BMW is in the back of a semi-trailer headed to Albuquerque.
Whoever said you need two arms to drive a motorcycle lacked imagination.
A Short Story by Ben McNutt
Sometimes a man drinks entirely too much tequila and finds himself in a dive bar in Pasadena singing Hotel California with a one-armed trucker named Pete Ravenski. And sometimes a one-armed trucker named Pete Ravenski turns out to be a real son-of-a-bitch.
Tequila. It’s a coy flirt on the way down and a real ball buster the morning after. You got hustled, asshole. And now your 1972 R75/5 BMW is in the back of a semi-trailer headed to Albuquerque.
Whoever said you need two arms to drive a motorcycle lacked imagination.
When I heard the learn’d astronomer,
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.
- Walt Whitman, 1900
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me,
When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them,
When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,
How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick,
Till rising and gliding out I wander’d off by myself,
In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time,
Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.
- Walt Whitman, 1900
Wednesday, February 6, 2013
Monday, February 4, 2013
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