He slinks along the wall in the dark hoping that his pounding heart and ragged breath don't give him away as he moves closer to the door..."Man, I hate surprise parties," he thinks.

Arty didn't drink much during the day, but while on vacation in New Orleans he found himself with a Kamikaze shot in one hand and a mind eraser in the other in the early afternoon and realized the beauty of a daytime drunk, that is, everything seemed brighter, the people friendlier and the crystal-blue, cloudless sky the most beautiful thing in the world.

The interviewer stumbled through the questions,managing only to get guttural responses from the writer who clearly thought the man was suffering from late-stage syphilis.

James threw more wood onto the fire as the howling heard in the distance continued, but now seemed to be coming from more than one direction and getting closer.

The men sat at the bar, their clothes dripping wet, and spoke in hushed tones and sometimes glanced outside at the ever rising waters in the wind-whipped street.

Tadpole Jones didn't like playing ball with the other kids, preferring to spend his time in the woods with a three-legged dog named Scraps and a one-eyed girl that everyone called Jinx.

The men stood toe to toe, their faces distended in anger as they yelled at one another and nearly came to blows over whether a proper roux should be dark brown or merely a light caramel color.