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.