Kate Ryan

Surviving the Apocalypse didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a little romance.

Recently, it was announced that the Ocean’s Eleven remake will be ladies-only too. Could it be that we’ve embarked on an era in which women take center stage?

Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.

He died a violent death. I saw him myself, flopping between wooden blades, his head bent back strangely.

She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.

The birds abandon their posts in the pepper trees, sending tiny, oblong leaves raining to the ground.

LAX, on the other hand, seemed like a perfect place to pick up the latest deadly virus.

I have no choice but to start all over again, tomorrow or not at all.

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.

“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.