An entire life fit in four boxes.

Her life was a Chinese finger trap.

Hazy memories of the night before sucked at his bedraggled brain.

In their dreams they are wild creatures.

Their marriage in shambles, finances wrecked, jobs unbearable, they packed up their possessions and drove away, hoping that by leaving it behind they could begin again and regain their love, at least.

Stuffed on BBQ and beer they waved their tiny American flags in a desultory fashion.

The robin perched on a low branch, preened and chided passersby.

We partied like it was the end of the world and for some of us it was.

When he finally arrived in California Carl realized it wasn't his surroundings that had been the problem.

The jets screamed overhead.

He was a bumbler by nature until he got behind a piano.

They secretly plotted each other's death.

Frito pie, chili dogs and cheap beer were a treat for the famous gourmand who felt obliged to eat these lowbrow delights in secret.

Gladys spent more time worrying about the goings-on at General Hospital than in her own life.

He looked evil in the flickering campfire light.

The blood washed away in the driving rain.

Susan's questions for the pop star fluttered away like frightened pigeons as her schoolgirl crush overtook her professionalism.

They spent their whole lives waiting.

Unlike in a dream where your limbs seem to move as if through thick oatmeal my fist shot out almost inadvertently and caught the man in the nose, bringing him to his knees.

The only times Theo feels truly connected to other humans are the rare moments when he and his bandmates go beyond the technically proficient to some kind of sonic utopia.

Dazed for days on end, moments of clarity were interspersed with dreams and visions.

From cocaine to coffee, crystal meth to fruit juice, he had to admit he was slowing down.

In the bright moonlight the shadows stretched towards eternity.

He doesn't recall why they had decided to chop down the fine young tree, but he remembers weeping afterwards for the pointlessness of the destruction.

We were convinced we were on the right side of history, but what does it matter when no one remembers the past?

Sitting at a bar by himself on his  50th birthday, Dave wondered where the fame and fortune were and whether any of his half-finished novels contained the seeds of the masterpiece he knew he could write someday.

As consciousness faded, her last coherent memory was of the doctor's Cheshire cat smile.

After the symposium they got drunk on ouzo and discussed their favorite founding fathers.

"I recalled my childhood -- the mornings spent walking the hills at one with the world -- and longed for that feeling again," he told me as we sat in his tiny cabin in the woods.

Walking past a house he saw an old man in a window and was shocked when he realized it was his own reflection in the glass.

Windshield wipers clicked out a rhythm for the hum of the long dark road.