Each November for the past sixteen years, twenty-two men have convened at a hotel off I-95 to reenact a gruesome milestone in football history: the 1985 play 

I met her two days before Christmas at a holiday pop-up market on the Lower East Side. This was 2006, and she was selling refurbished antique furniture, which she’d placed around

B.F. was exotic to me simply because he was so dirty. I live in Boulder, where there is no dirt. No dirty people. Even all the runners look like they just got out of the shower.

November 18, 1985—Washington Redskins quarter­back Joe Theismann, thirty-six, suffers a career-ending compound fracture of the right leg on a sack by New York Giants linebacker 

We’ve got to get these wagons ­unloaded. The channel, tubing, I beam, pipe, rod, conduit, connectors, the milled bombs, the forged doohickeys—I forget what they’re called, are those bells?

I like that we don’t do the things we don’t do. I like our plans on waking, when morning slinks onto our bed like a cat of light, plans we never realize because we get up late from imagining

Yancey swishes down the dirt road, feet aflutter. The dog has always half hopped, and now that she wears little rubber booties, after two nasty bouts of bacterial infection in her paw pads, her dance-like

From the large windows, listless spring light and the sounds of the industrial estate. Bérnard is waiting for his uncle to lock up. He is already wearing his jacket and sits there staring at the objects on the

I’m the one who started it. I was depressed as hell and wanted to share my bad news. “Has anyone read Candide?” I said.

In my twenties, when I got hard-ons all the time, sometimes for no good reason, as though in a vacuum, I might have gone for someone like her.