Kate Ryan

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

Okay, so maybe she didn’t really understand feminism.

Sheila applied widely and on a whim. She needed a job and she needed one fast.

Everywhere you look these days (on Instagram), beautiful pictures abound. From teacups overflowing with succulents to smoothie bowls arranged as art. All while a lavender-haired model casually eats ice cream in front of a stupidly gorgeous Tahitian sunset. All this endless beauty has become a bit dull.

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.

You could take this easy, informative quiz to find out with whom you side on important legislative issues and social policies. Or you could go my route and pick your candidate based on what dinosaur they resemble.

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

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

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

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