Kate Ryan

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?

Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.

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

I saw my old babysitter at a women’s wrestling cage match.

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

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 . . .

It was a tradition of theirs. When siblings Sue and Johnny went home to their mother’s for Christmas, they watched the 11 o’clock local news.

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

Hollywood continues to flounder in a dick-sucking frenzy of self-congratulatory white male directors, writers, and producers.

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.