Silver Girl is not escapism—it is the fictionalization of real-life.
When the yellow car hit us, it hit us like a kiss and pulled back slowly.
In a way that may be reminiscent of the loving spirit one would bring to a Dead show, Housley treats every character as an emotional being.
That paperweight breaks my heart, because I identify with it—I feel like a blue flower immobilized in heavy glass.
Now we’ll grow gills, the small child says. We feel for our earlobes and pull them into new shapes.
This island is not what a typical person would think when you say Island for this island is man-made in its entirety.
I welcome God to test me. Unlike Abraham, I’d turn the blade against him just for asking, for second-guessing my faith.
The brothers generate sound, but the rest of the landscape is silent—silent and cold, sixteen degrees when they left Dan’s truck at eleven.
She ends the story, always, exactly the same way. “That was one of the great conversations of my life.”
There’s a different me out there who never met you. There’s a different you who left me at the altar and joined a cult.