I think I just created a super-breed of ants.
Last winter, a colony of ants appeared in my bathroom. They popped up overnight without warning. I just walked in there one day, and everywhere around me is a deluge of tiny black specks walking around.
(For your information, I keep my bathroom pretty darn clean, so no dirty bathroom jokes please.)
"What do you think that means, exactly?"
I looked over to where here was pointing. A cute girl was perched on the round bench, elbows forward on the coffee table, talking to her friends. The smooth skin of her back was exposed, along with the top of a tiny purple thong.
"Don't Rebuild. Reimagine," says the New York Times Magazine of the site of the World Trade Center. And so a group of leading architects met to discuss what could be done.
The BOOM of the impact must have been deafening. Yim, my cousin's wife, ran out of the World Trade Center lobby and into the courtyard. The shock waves shook the entire building and debris fell to the earth.
She looked up and glass fell into her face. Several shards cut her cornea. She covered her face and ran from the building.
I was drawn to that shelf by some inexplicable force. Maybe it was the sex books.
This was at a friend's sister's house. We were going to have a dinner party. As they prepared the food, I found myself wandering over the books.
Oh my.
Weekly random rambles, musings & writings of Mike Lee in San Francisco, CA