Give me one good reason, snarled General Mendoza, why I shouldn’t kill you and your family right now, you dirty traitor.
Because, replied the Pierrot, his body still braced against the beam of the ruined roof, if you do, the roof will fall and kill us both.
Mendoza lowered his Luger. Outside, the cries of dying Harlequins punctuated the hellish night.
Let’s see how long you can hold off your own death, said Mendoza. Not that you will have any army left to lead if you survive. He snapped off a mocking salute and walked off through the wreckage.
Alice lay half-asleep in the field of long timothy, her dress still pulled up over her waist. A breeze pushed down the grass stalks, tugging at their seed-heads. Clouds began to pool in the sky. I must get up, Alice thought. Things to do. She felt a tiny tickle on her thigh and watched an ant climbing over the goosebumps on her exposed skin. Must get up, she thought, brushing the ant away as if it were a loose crumb.
But not just yet.
Then again, Alice thought, the pigs aren't going to feed the remains of that homeless guy to themselves. She knew this was her mother's voice talking, but it was hard to ignore.
Once I was in L.A. and I was walking down the street when Richard Linklater came out of a café. He was running after me and waving his arms, and first I thought he was some crazy guy, or maybe a grad student or something, or maybe even David Berman, but he kept saying, “Stop, stop, I’m Richard Linklater,” so I stopped and let him catch up to me. He was all out of breath when he got there, so I stood and waited for him to speak.
“You’re so beautiful,” he gasped. “I have to rotoscope you”.
Up on my fridge there’s an offer for a celebrity threesome with me, Uma Thurman and another star of my choosing. I guess whoever I pick has to go along with it, the letter says. So I’m really hoping Ricardo Montalban is still alive.