If You Were A Mermaid, You Said,

If Los Angeles Is A Woman Reclining Billboard Model With Collagen-puffed Lips And Silicone-inflated Breasts, A Woman In A Magenta Convertible With Heart-shaped Sunglasses And Cotton Candy Hair; If Los Angeles Is This Woman, Then The San Fernando Valley Is Her Teenybopper Sister. The Teenybopper Sister Snaps Bug Stretchy Pink Bubbles Over Her Tongue And Checks Her Lipgloss In The Rearview Mirror, . . . Teeny Plays The Radio Too Loud And Bites Her Nails, Wondering If The Glitter Polish Will Poison Her.

Morning. Strawberry Sky Dusted With White Winter Powder Sugar Sun. And Nobody To Munch On It With

Metaphors Are An Interesting Example Of Creating Magic In Prose.

There’s Nowhere To Escape,” Dobey Said, Jamming His Hands Into His Pockets And Staring Into The Valley. That’s Not True, Baby,” Said Desiree. She Took His Hands And Pulled Him To Her, Wrapping Her Legs Around His Torso. She Could Feel The Sobs In Both Of Them, But Quiet, Silenced By The Kiss. They Could Escape Inside Each Other.

Pain Didn't Ever Really Stop, He Thought; It Just Changed Forms.