Out in the center of the ring Romero profiled in front of the bull, drew the sword out from the folds of the muleta, rose on his toes, and sighted along the blade.

As I read for the first time the inscription on my ancestor's tombstone, I recognized her name, but it was the date that transfixed my gaze and made my hair stand on end. The date of her death was March 1st, a fact I had been unaware of, but I did know that this day happened also to be March 1st; it was the thirty-second anniversary of her transition.

The local corbeaux, black, heavy, hunched, hopped about the slopes of rubbish; the children of the shanty town ran between the traffic on the rubbish-strewn highway to get to the dump.

Todd finds them confusing. They are just confusing articles." Listen — "Hold on, putz. You listen. I'm so sick of you pindicks jerking off on my time.