Kate Ryan
Bio
Kate Ryan Articles
My tights are cutting me in half at the waist . . . just like a sausage in its casing.
Read...She closed in on the open pores enlarged ten times their normal size by a high magnification pocket mirror.
Read...Alison learned from her grandmother how a plastic smile could take you places—especially in a place like Hollywood.
Read...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.
Read...Writing simply does for me what long walks do for small dogs; it makes me tired and happy.
Read...Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.
Read...A bloated mother in her polka dot one-piece gnaws on a corndog while reading the romantic pulp she picked up on her way out of the supermarket . . .
Read...He died a violent death. I saw him myself, flopping between wooden blades, his head bent back strangely.
Read...She got too high while watching The Bachelor and had a misanthropic breakdown.
Read...She doesn’t know how to communicate the feeling that all is for nothing, nothing is normal.
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