Kate Ryan

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.

One of my biggest fears is having a random stranger ask me, "how it’s going?" They might as well ask if I’d like to step into their van and get murdered.

His mind rode the lines, circling on an endless loop to nowhere as he attempted to go about his activities.

He thought I was mad, but in an artistic way; I thought he was horny all the time, but in an artistic way.

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

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?

Everyone wants to have the funny tweets because people equate them with wealth, power, and beauty. The problem is, we’re not all funny.

Someone would always cook in their tighty whities, his package at eye level for the person doing French homework at the kitchen table.

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

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