The little girl walked up to me and held out a pen and paper and I said, I’m not famous, and she said, What are you then? and I didn’t know.

He orders a beer and says, I wouldn’t know love if it hit me in the face, and then a woman hits him in the face. And he orders another beer.

The anger felt new, fresh almost, and I swished it around my mouth, and the sweet turned sour, and at that moment, I realized I’d grown old.

The brochure promised an impossible kind of greatness. Let’s go to the hotel, I said, to feel superior maybe, and we went, and I was mugged.