Kate Ryan

His mind rode the lines, circling on an endless loop to nowhere as he attempted to go about his activities.

I saw my old babysitter at a women’s wrestling cage match.

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.

Someone would always cook in their tighty whities, his package at eye level for the person doing French homework at the kitchen table.

She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.

The Gap come autumn: where normcore and film noir cleverly collide.

12:48 AM. Why would someone schedule an exorcism for the middle of a weeknight?

She doesn’t know how to communicate the feeling that all is for nothing, nothing is normal.

Motherhood is easily the toughest, most sacred job on earth. Without moms, the human race simply wouldn’t be here. But personally, I’d rather dangle myself from dental floss over a volcano full of spiders than push another human being out of my body.