Identity crisis.

It’s a record.

How to be a scientist.

Driving a hard bargain.

The score of a lifetime.

Unearthing the truth.

Time to go.

A taste of success.

Meet the literary agent.

A ray of hope.

They’ve got your number.

A mammoth task.

A taste of history.

Return journey.

It is time to play your part.

Rapid response.

Creative differences.

There are many ways to tell this story. All of them are true. via Pocket

Jassim is giving chase and he shouldn’t be. Beneath the flapping robes of Jassim’s running target, a deadly corset bristling with titanium circuitry flashes into view. via Pocket

There were fourteen clean steps from any path, manmade and peeling the shrubbery of the mountain, to the spots where the Virgin Marys would remain. via Pocket

I hope you’ll forgive the whimsy of this report. I’ve held my silence my entire life, and there are many things I deserve to say to you. I know it’s a breach of protocol, but in a sense, so was I. And there may not be another chance. via Pocket

Almost everyone I entertain over a frosted fifth of vodka—bottle balanced precariously on a foldout tray, half my attention on keeping it upright—wants to know how I became a competitive eater. Also, how I found myself living on the Dbovotav Coastal…

Six-year-old Violet Wellington was the only child to come out of the swamp. The boys were gone forever. She sat on the side of a muddied dirt road, digging her nails raw against the gravel; her jeans and pink t-shirt were damp but clean. via Pocket

It’s the same old story. Take a chance and pick up a hitchhiker. But only after midnight and only when you need some company. Of course, the hitchhiker will disappear. That’s the way the story goes, right? But this time you are the hitchhiker. And t…

I walk like my father. He has a long, swinging stride with a bounce in the balls of his feet. A cheerful walk but not one that brooks much argument. I am twelve years old and my mother thinks it’s time for me to learn to walk “like a girl. via Pocket

The timer clicked, a cicada in the dark. Lifting the tongs off their rest, he swirled the paper gently; watching, judging. Good to go by the rules, better to work by instinct. via Pocket

So I guess the story begins, fittingly, with someone handing me a Coma rig and saying, play me. Two a.m. and I’m at this party in somebody’s trailer out in the trashy part of town. via Pocket

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The last song and dance number that Izzie Valdes performs in the Elegance Retreat Resort and Spa's Weekly Michael Jackson Tribute Spectacular is "Thriller," copyright 1982 MJJ Records. Usually, this works out well. via Pocket

A composer in an unstable city-state accidentally discovers the perfect singer for his work—a clockwork man—and sows the seeds of revolution. via Pocket