A corseted Victorian woman in puffy, pink silk beamed up at a starched-collared lord astride a stallion that pulled at the hobbled stable boy gripping its reigns.
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A corseted Victorian woman in puffy, pink silk beamed up at a starched-collared lord astride a stallion that pulled at the hobbled stable boy gripping its reigns.
I hesitated to tell the tattooed counterman at Good Eats he had a body odor problem.
Downtown in summer just before punk exploded, we walked 7th Avenue around Christopher Street past the leather bars. He was so tall, he took two steps for my every one.
We talked about my week at school or a movie we planned to see. Suddenly my mom would say “There’s your husband!”