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.

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

Everywhere you look these days (on Instagram), beautiful pictures abound. From teacups overflowing with succulents to smoothie bowls arranged as art. All while a lavender-haired model casually eats ice cream in front of a stupidly gorgeous Tahitian sunset. All this endless beauty has become a bit dull.

Alma couldn’t understand why her Yelp reviews were so dismal. She didn’t advertise herself as a magician. She was a hair stylist.

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

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

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

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

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

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.