MAURA SANDERS was lying in a hospital bed waiting to die. At 24, she couldn't imagine a more terrible fate, but if she was honest with herself, she couldn't really imagine a better one either.
When Kenny shot Charlie, no one was really sure how to react. It wasn't because it was all that surprising — Kenny had had it out for Charlie since day one — but we didn't know whether to rejoice at the end of a feud or dread whatever was coming next.
“Where’s my cannoli?” a little voice behind me says.
The rod of the pool cue glided back and forth between Martin’s slim fingers as he surveyed the field before him: the odds were not in his favor.
I was married, once. She was French. Her names was Inès, and I suppose I should have known that any woman whose name means “chaste” (especially if she’s French) is destined to live ironically.