Weekends I serve fried chicken to drunks who make jokes about breasts and thighs. The manager comes out about once an hour and tells me to please put my cap back on.

This is one of those cruise ships dedicated to helping people. These ships embark every day now from such places as Miami, Liverpool, Naples or Athens, some of them stuffed with psychiatrists trying to help the passengers forget their troubles, others with physical culture experts trying to beat the blubber off a fat clientele, others with religious leaders trying to purge or mystify those who are aboard.

Capucine was fifty-seven years old when she killed herself by jumping from a ninth-floor window. First she was born, then she grew up, and after modeling in Paris she began acting in Hollywood movies,

In the inside pocket of my coat, in a compartment of my much-used wallet I treasured a check for 500 francs nicely folded in four. From my looking at it so often to assure myself it was still there, the check had become a little crumpled and yellowish, but it had its full value.

Anusia, Anusieczka, Anusienieczka, my, was she—wasn’t she an enchantment! I was afraid to say it to myself, I wouldn’t do it. It happened once that I spied her as she moved to the window, and her skirt spread out like a flag, like a fold of the chiton of Nike of Samothrace, and she set her 

Now I walk back to the Manor House, on the path which runs back of peasant yards and barns, along the quite well-trodden path where everybody walks to avoid the mud of the main road. 

Everyone in Upper Parkview, even people who did not know the Engelbrechts socially, knew about their Elijah, and how he not only cooked and served at the Engelbrechts’ excellent parties, but also suggested the dates and chose the wine. It was said he kept a record of who owed the Engelbrechts and whom they owed, and that people who offended him got shifted down the list. 

Ever since I was a kid reading Terry and the Pirates I’ve always dug uniforms. I dug football uniforms, the clash of team colors against each other, and the heavy German uniforms in World War II movies; I dug braid and insignia, Ike jackets were very cool and air force blues. Whenever I drew a picture in school it was of an air force pilot in smart blues with wings and ribbons.

Joy Ray lives on Great Jones Street upstairs from Sticky Mike's Frog Bar, a nightclub in front of which Rocket, drunk and loping towards the subway, was once robbed at gun point. 

“Wait till I turn this off. Now.”

“That noise. Whatever is it?”

“The Hoover was running.”

“How’s that?”

“I said, I was running the vacuum.”

“Not that. Outside. Listen.” Rosie leaned over the banister.

“Oh, it’s the bee, dear.”

“Bee nothing. A thousand woodpeckers working on tin.”