I Am A Man With Gray Hair, Crooked Teeth, And A Warm Smile

this?” I asked, even though it wouldn’t take a genius to say who was on the other line. “Harry.” “And how exactly did you get my number?” I inquired and I could hear the smile that was growing on his face. “I get things, Gray. It is what I do.” God, it’s like I can also see him shrugging. Get what things? Phone numbers, or girls? I glared at myself, at my subconscious. “How do you get things, Styles?” I glanced up at the door, knowing my father was probably going to emerge any second. And I glanced

has her back to me, as if I am someone who can easily be ignored. Sitting erect, legs crossed over each other. Faking importance, faking intelligence. My parents lean over the desk, and mutter under their breath. They actually think I care, but they can say whatever the hell they want about me. It's all useless, meaningless, and worthless to my ears. My parents say they are well educated individuals, but when they speak to me all I hear is stupidity. Conformity, rules, gray, black, white, death, stink

the small room, all squirming in their plastic chairs, excited that they were going to stars in Pankyland the Movie. Except for me, that is. My knees knocked against each other like I had to go to the bathroom, but not because I bubbled inside. This small room felt like they had the AC set on the polar bear setting. I yearned for a jacket. All the other kids held a copy of the movie script and read it to themselves, most moving their lips and mumbling to themselves. Craig, my nine-year-old little

Out of breath, her knuckles were bloodied and her throat was hoarse. Pain radiated through her shoulder and toes from the multiple times she slammed and kicked against the bolted entrance. “She is all I have!” Sara wailed. Sliding down the length of its cold surface, she fell to the ground and rested her cheek against the dusty floor. For the first time in a long time, she gave into self-pity and sobbed. Sayeed had taken everything—her identity, her sanity, her family. The life she once had was

guano, and staples such as meal and snuff. Miss Amelia was rich. In addition to the store she operated a still three miles back in the swamp, and ran out the best liquor in the county. She was a dark, tall woman with bones and muscles like a man. Her hair was cut short and brushed back from the forehead, and there was about her sunburned face a tense, haggard quality. She might have been a handsome woman if, even then, she was not slightly cross-eyed. There were those who would have courted her

onaryDictionary of Ònìchà Igbo 2nd edition of the Igbo dictionary, Kay Williamson, Ethiope Press, 1972. Kay Williamson (†) This version prepared and edited by Roger Blench Roger Blench Mallam Dendo 8, Guest Road Cambridge CB1 2AL United Kingdom Voice/ Fax. 0044-(0)1223-560687 Mobile worldwide (00-44)-(0)7967-696804 E-mail R.Blench@odi.org.uk http://www.rogerblench.info/RBOP.htm To whom all correspondence should be addressed. This printout: November 16, 2006 TABLE OF CONTENTS Abbreviations: