Kate Ryan

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

Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.

I would send some chocolates, but I’m not allowed anymore since they found the shiv in the birthday cake I sent you.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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