The sergeant tapped lightly on the door before entering the cell. The man at his right looked at him quizzically, but said nothing. The walls inside were gray and bare. There was a small cot pushed up against the wall, and off in the corner there was an old wooden chair. About six inches below the ceiling a small barred window was letting in brilliant sunlight from outside.
...

I have been ordering the same hamburger for the past fifteen years while standing at a counter in a crowded subway corridor while experiencing the vibrations of passing trains.
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After the war ended—after the contents of the house were loaded into a moving truck and directed to a place three states away—the first thing Bill did was take off his coat, lie on the living room floor, and soak in the quiet. He watched it go to make sure, stood at the curb and witnessed the truck pull out of the gated community, turn left onto the main road, and disappear.
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Blues (1)
So what do we do? God knows! And may He forgive me. I don't want to upset anyone. But I started to pity me. They don't want it to snow. Lets draw a suspention line with the epilogue and everything!
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“Just think about it, Pete.”  My uncle said to my father.  “Life plays out like a series of irreconcilable opposites. Good and bad.  Black and white, it's the law of nature Pete and literature reflects the same things.  Get with it.” 
...

…An overpowering sense of harsh necessity compelled him to gaze into this person's eyes. It was the face of a stranger, yet at the same time oddly familiar, especially the eyes: black, shining glassily…
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A man is on fire and his last thought is
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Never ever had she come across such a face. It was intriguing, had a strange fascination. Was it lovely? She was not sure. But it was strange, very very strange. Minti, the thirteen year old cherubic girl had been staring at the face so intently that she was startled by the booming voice of her mother, just inches from her ears.
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The thud floated up through the walls of their bedroom past the dimly-lit hallway to our bedroom. I knew it was Dad's wicked fist landing on Mum like a bag of cement, but I didn't know which part of her body he'd it. I was certain to know the next morning.
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The instant the limo door opens and the usher in his peaked cap steps aside, Roger faces the equivalent of a paparazzi firing squad. He makes no attempt to quicken his stride or accommodate the fashion magazine's photographers who egg him on to strut on the red carpet as if he were on a catwalk. Half of the photographers stop shooting once they realize they don't even know who he is. Roger stands there fully erect, his hands loosely dug in his pockets.
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I board the blue line to the northwest side of Chicago . The trains are crowded in the downtown tonight—more so than usual, perhaps because of the rain. The October air is fresh, mixed with a cold breath of wind off the lake. The trees in the city parks are almost all golden-orange now, and you can literally lose yourself in a meditative bliss if you stand under the leaves for too long. You can easily enter a dream world, an innocent state of pure calm.
...