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arts are nice things made by nice people for the sky, and for other people to be happy. I like arts because they are good.

Posted By Pilgrim On 11.13.2012 @ 2:54 pm

She cared for no one, was passionate about nothing, and seemed to regard all human interaction as something to be endured.

Posted By pilgrim On 10.31.2011 @ 3:26 pm

It had started innocently enough. A mild office flirtation, nothing more. Yet here we were, six months later, and I had just asked her to leave her husband.

Posted By pilgrim On 10.31.2011 @ 3:10 am

There must have been 500 of them. Kids mostly, but with rocks, baseball bats, broken bottles. Fuck, I don’t want to hurt anyone. I steadied myself, gave the signal, and we moved in.

Posted By pilgrim On 10.28.2011 @ 4:53 pm

When I was small my grandmother used to take me to a park near our house. In the park was a wishing-well. The bronze coins in the bottom of the well glistened under the water in the morning light.

Posted By Pilgrim On 12.30.2010 @ 3:45 am

There were three friends who met each other once a year in a secluded wood. Two had known each other from childhood; the third they had met at university. Their meeting was a boys’ affair, complete with barbeques, hunting and fishing.

Posted By Pilgrim On 12.29.2010 @ 8:43 pm