I've Maintained Old Friendships, Like With People

At The Morgue, People Were So Desensitized That They Would Eat Lunch In The Glass Walled Room Adjacent To The Autopsy Room. A Viewing Room. Because It Had The Best Air Conditioning In The Building. So They Would Eat In There And Maybe Somebody Would Come In Who Had Been Found After Being Dead For Three Days And They Would Say: That Is The Exact Purple I Want For Those Drapes In The Study. They Didn't Miss A Beat. They Could Eat Through Anything.

After The Trial, I Watched As Another Female Pathologist Collected Maggots From A Spinal Column Found In The Desert. There Was A Decomposed Head, Too, And Before Leaving Work She Planned To Simmer It And Study The Exposed Cranium For Contusions. I Was Asked To Pass This Information Along To The Chief Medical Examiner, And, Looking Back, I Perhaps Should Have Chosen My Words More Carefully. 'fire Up The Kettle,' I Told Him. 'ol'-fashioned Skull Boil At Five P.m.

There’s A Lot I Don’t Tell My Father When He Calls Asking After Amy. He Wouldn’t Understand That She Has No Interest In Getting Married And Was, In Fact, Quite Happy To Break Up With Her Live-in Boyfriend, Whom She Replaced With An Imaginary Boyfriend Named Ricky. The Last Time She Was Asked Out By A Successful Bachelor, Amy Hesitated Before Saying, ‘thanks For Asking, But I’m Really Not Into White Guys Right Now.

I Rejected The Word Humorist For A Long Time Because I Thought That It Meant You Had, Like, A Cardigan Sweater With Patches On The Elbows, But Now I'm Old And I Do. I Grew Into That Word. I Think At Heart, All This Time, I've Been A Diarist. I'm Not Ashamed Of It.

It's A Common Mistake For Vacationing Americans To Assume That Everyone Around Them Is French And Therefore Speaks No English Whatsoever. [...] An Experienced Traveler Could Have Told By Looking At My Shoes That I Wasn't French. And Even If I Were French, It's Not As If English Is Some Mysterious Tribal Dialect Spoken Only By Anthropologists And A Small Population Of Cannibals.