Kate Ryan

The Gap come autumn: where normcore and film noir cleverly collide.

Is flagging potentially offensive material taking the PC movement too far?

My tights are cutting me in half at the waist . . . just like a sausage in its casing.

Light some candles and use those bath salts you've been saving for a special occasion. Masturbate for 55 minutes.

The bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

She couldn’t imagine the water she sat in, the water that enveloped her body, wanted to be here.

She doesn’t know how to communicate the feeling that all is for nothing, nothing is normal.

As an Uber driver, I have the privilege of talking to and eavesdropping on a sampling of L.A.’s finest, ranging from the clinically insane to the simply self-absorbed. As a writer, there is no end to the amount of inspiration my passengers provide.

“You are the naked girl on horse, yes?” he said, approaching her table from across the café patio.

My parents got the idea they’d send me to stay at my grandparents’ house in Florida for a week. I think my mother needed a week to herself.