Kate Ryan

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

Hollywood continues to flounder in a dick-sucking frenzy of self-congratulatory white male directors, writers, and producers.

Is flagging potentially offensive material taking the PC movement too far?

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.

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

Writing simply does for me what long walks do for small dogs; it makes me tired and happy.

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

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

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

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