The biggest thing about prom these days is the invite, which is elaborate.
I am a man whose biggest fear is running out of propane or mayo.
I couldn’t resist brushing my thumb against the softness of her brow. Next to hers, my skin looks like Russian farm land.
My little girl had a little girl.
What a summer this promises to be, warm and sinny, sunblasted and social, with gin as the mixer.