Kate Ryan

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

Sheila applied widely and on a whim. She needed a job and she needed one fast.

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

He thought I was mad, but in an artistic way; I thought he was horny all the time, but in an artistic way.

My tights are cutting me in half at the waist . . . just like a sausage in its casing.

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

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.

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

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.

Surviving the Apocalypse didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a little romance.