The texture was “spongy,” but it really did go with the feel of the book.
Fog obscured the houses. The scrawny, shaven-head rickshaw man sighed and hummed with the pedaling noise.
Although his eyes are on the road, he's certain that once in awhile, after mouthing some of the words, she glances over at him and smirks.
My dying mother did not leave this earth until she said with her last breath, 'And please dye your hair.'
For the first forty years of my life, I was quite happy as an adopted child who knew nothing about his origins.
