Al was an overachiever who was always two days late and at least a dollar fifty short. 

"Never become the subject of your story," the grizzled editor barked at the cub reporter. 

 The wind-whipped snow—wait a minute, is this going to be another sentence based on what you see out of your window?—lashed the trees unmercifully—yes. 

Life sometimes seemed to be little more than a million lost passwords and an unknown username. 

Stretch a chain of words across the page and hope they make sense. 

The wood smoke drifted lazily on the icy air. 

The heroic and the craven often resided in the same soul. 

Paul had once considered himself pure of heart but like snow on the sidewalks of Manhattan, it had become befouled and filthy, gritty and gray. 

 The starlings startle easily but the crows abide. 

The final chapter was the hardest to write so she never did. 

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The clock tick ticking away as the lights fades into winter night. 

Frank finally mastered the fine art of wasting time and then died of boredom. 

Look up at the night sky and tell yourself you're important then laugh and laugh and laugh. 

 Don't disregard your heroes' flaws because they are what make their achievements that more monumental. 

 Gloating is just gluttony of the ego. 

He enjoyed not knowing what was just around the corner.  

Priscilla was chagrined to learn the Prada bag for her Metaverse avatar was a Chinese knockoff. 

                                                                                                                 

                                                                                                      

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Nighttime was the right time for thinking about mortality, or so some part of Brenda's brain she had no control over had decided. 

The mourning doves kept watch from spindly trees, bare and swaying in the January wind.

Take a deep breath then slowly exhale. 

A clean house was as close to godliness as he could muster. 

Sara sometimes put the most mundane items on her to do list, like brushing her teeth, just so she could scratch it off and add to her sense of accomplishment.  

 Death was the enforcer but time was the boss. 

 Everyone knew that if Eric ever ended up on a liferaft amidst an endless sea he wouldn't hesitate to eat his companions. 

The makeshift memorial for the dead was dust covered, the flowers dessicated, as memories faded and life limped on for the survivors.  

Sometimes Sara felt like she was stuck in a spam folder in danger of being deleted before she had a chance to tell her story. 

 The politician had thinner skin than the trans kids he liked to berate. 

The path he normally ran on was crowded that early January day but by the end of the month had returned to its typical sparseness as resolutions were forgotten and routines returned. 

Alice woke up to a new year but the same old problems.