IT IS TWO in the morning when the phone rings. “Damn,” Joel says.
Rachel didn't have any memory of chocolate eggs but here was one now.
And what had the cousins expected, back when they agreed to put Vaclav Havel's press secretary up for a month?
Sometime during the night of December 2, an intruder entered the Theatrical Print Warehouse.
Here’s what I forgot this week: The name of one of my favorite students, the name of that Carol Shields book I love, the name of that Willa Cather novel I love, the details of a story I read, just two days after I read it. This last failure was a real problem; I forgot the details while I was meeting with the student-author to discuss the story.
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