Kate Ryan

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.

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

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.

She knows you’re not supposed to call it an “it,” but she honestly can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl or . . . undecided.

The birds abandon their posts in the pepper trees, sending tiny, oblong leaves raining to the ground.

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

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

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

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

For all of you crazy people that think going to Target is ever a good idea during the holiday season, this is a list on how to survive a shopping trip to Target is for you…