They pretended they were super rich for the weekend and prepared to spend the rest of the year paying the tab.

She went from la vida loca to la vida lento when she hit forty.

The ancient cobblestoned streets beckoned.

The night time revelers, of whom Ike had previously been a dues-paying member, know just made him angry and kept him up to all hours with their boisterous foolishness below his window. 

The dying artist dreamed of his unfinished masterpiece.

When he counted up the years they'd been apart the realization was like a sucker punch to his soul.

She seemed to enjoy her misery as if it were a relaxing bath she was too comfortable to leave.