Second Drink
She knows the alcohol is kicking in when she thinks, wistfully, “Dear old Shakespeare!”
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End of Phone Conversation with Verizon Adjustment Person
I say: “I guess I’d better take your name…” She says: “It’s Shelley…as in Byron, Keats, and Shelley.” “Hah!…I’m glad you like them too!” I say. “Oh, yes,” says Shelley. “I wish my name were Keats, but it’s not…” I add. “I do too!” she responds. “Thank you for choosing Verizon Wireless.”
Hands on the Wheel
I thought the booklet said hands at ten and two on the wheel. But maybe that’s because I like to drive with my hands at ten and two. But the booklet actually says: hands at nine and three. Well, my husband usually drives with his hands at eleven and one, which makes me nervous. And…
Caramel Drizzle
“Caramel syrup or caramel drizzle?” “Sorry?” “Caramel syrup or caramel drizzle?” This is an overheard conversation. I look up: it is a tall, slim woman with a ponytail, buying the drink at a Starbucks counter. She is wearing a dark blue uniform. We are in an airport. She is probably a flight attendant. Long pause…
The Testimonie of Alyss Teeg
After a weak Trig sed maybee we shud call Gil Semmens, have him Eye-Ball James Elward. Ma laffd, Semmens? Trig shiftid in his chare, looking like he wishd he-ud kept his Mouth shut, but it was too layt for that, Ma full of scorn, was alreddy in his fayce—Had Gil Semmens nown how to saive…
The Ghost’s Preface
Translated by John Cullen We were in Paradise: there was the fig tree and, over on the right, the apple tree, only half of which I could see through the big French window that opened onto the courtyard; there was moreover a cloud of birds so dense you could imagine it contained an infinite number…
Hidden in Plain Sight: A Companion Reference to Threats, Real and Imagined, as Configured in Late Twentieth-Century Christian America
Ace in the Hole The first Minuteman Missile—America’s first solid fuel, fully automated, push-button missile and John F. Kennedy’s secret weapon against the Soviets during the Cuban Missile Crisis—was buried in Alpha Six silo, forty miles southeast of my hometown. It took only thirty-two seconds to launch. In 1962, when Khrushchev’s threats escalated, Air Command…
Telling Stories about One’s Life
Translated by Lydia Davis When he starts telling stories, people gradually leave the table or turn away and talk about something else, and generally I’m the one who then has the bad luck to be obliged to listen to him. Someone must listen to him, after all, and he is a friendly man and a…
Shall I Translate it for You?
Translated by Lydia Davis Egon is no longer with us, we have buried him—we, a little band of people. Egon was my friend, and he was my reader. I knew him a long time and really from a distance, one of many in the bar, and he burdened people with tricky questions, he could really…