When Jay was 10 years old, he got a baseball glove for Christmas.
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I am from the neighborhood park, / From the sand in every pocket and all the screaming kids.
Standing on the edge of a rooftop, cigarette in hand, New York City towering behind her, she smiles at the camera and begins tap dancing.
The bricks are new along the sides of the small building.
“Tell me the story again mama!”
“That land-mine blew up one of ours!”
Dear Mr. Johnson and Board of Directors, I am writing to you today because a number of restaurants across the country have filed complaints about our most recent fortune cookie shipments.
I hate you.
A storm of blackened smoke obscures your eyes