Kate Ryan

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

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

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.

One of my biggest fears is having a random stranger ask me, "how it’s going?" They might as well ask if I’d like to step into their van and get murdered.

Like booster engines emptied of fuel, my limbs become disposable, useless tanks as the blood rushes from them.

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

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.

A bloated mother in her polka dot one-piece gnaws on a corndog while reading the romantic pulp she picked up on her way out of the supermarket . . .

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