Too late to run we hunkered down in the fallow field to wait for the planes to pass overhead.

The rain hid her tears.

Everybody loved a comeback story almost as much as the kind where the hero falls from glory.

"Back in my day at that age we would just listen to music in our bedrooms and get stoned," the old man remarked as they passed by some rowdy teenagers who were loudly yelling obscenities.

He only read the violent parts of the Bible, skipping over the boring sections about loving thy neighbor and other such claptrap.

The issues were buried beneath a landslide of mud and glitz.

She was sick of unsociable media and the vitriol that spilled out into the real world.