She Smiled At Him, With Longing. 'where

Pleasantness Was The Machismo Of The Midwest. There Was Something Athletic About It. You Flexed Your Face Into A Smile And Let It Hover There Like The Dare Of A Cat.

I Don't Think Of Any Sentence As A "one-liner", But I Do Pay Attention To How People Actually Speak When They Are Being Funny. Rhythm Is Key.

An Agony. The Exit Like The Entrance - But Reserved. A Palindrome: Gut-tug.

When She Packed Up To Leave, She Knew That She Was Saying Goodbye To Something Important, Which Was Not That Bad, In A Way, Because It Meant That At Least You Had Said Hello To It To Begin With.

That Is What Is Wrong With Cold People. Not That They Have Ice In Their Souls - We All Have A Bit Of That - But That They Insist Every Word And Deed Mirror That Ice. They Never Learn The Beauty Or Value Of Gesture. The Emotional Necessity. For Them, It Is All Honesty Before Kindness, Truth Before Art. Love Is Art, Not Truth. It's Like Painting Scenery.