They called her Debby Downer for constantly discussing dire subjects like climate change but she knew she was more akin to Cassandra.

The only reasonable conclusion was that our species had painted itself into a corner from which there was no escape.

For Matt, Mardi Gras was the saddest day of the year unless, of course, he was back home in New Orleans.

The moment roux went from the consistency of mashed potatoes to a smooth sauce was sheer joy to Maybelle.

The little victories—a successful party, a clean house, finishing a crossword—kept her from completely falling apart.

The masks had already started to slip but now were gleefully tossed aside to reveal the beasts beneath.

She put in months of intense preparation for a single fleeting moment.