Kate Ryan

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

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

The Gap come autumn: where normcore and film noir cleverly collide.

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

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.

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

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

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

He died a violent death. I saw him myself, flopping between wooden blades, his head bent back strangely.

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…