Kate Ryan

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

Everyone wants to have the funny tweets because people equate them with wealth, power, and beauty. The problem is, we’re not all funny.

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

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

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

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

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?

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.