Kate Ryan

My parents got the idea they’d send me to stay at my grandparents’ house in Florida for a week. I think my mother needed a week to herself.

The bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

She couldn’t imagine the water she sat in, the water that enveloped her body, wanted to be here.

You could take this easy, informative quiz to find out with whom you side on important legislative issues and social policies. Or you could go my route and pick your candidate based on what dinosaur they resemble.

She got too high while watching The Bachelor and had a misanthropic breakdown.

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

Alison learned from her grandmother how a plastic smile could take you places—especially in a place like Hollywood.

As an Uber driver, I have the privilege of talking to and eavesdropping on a sampling of L.A.’s finest, ranging from the clinically insane to the simply self-absorbed. As a writer, there is no end to the amount of inspiration my passengers provide.

Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.

“You are the naked girl on horse, yes?” he said, approaching her table from across the café patio.