A good title achieves many things—sets a tone, suggests narrative, maybe even establishes a point-of-view—but it has a primary objective: if the title doesn’t say “Read me,” it’s no good.
DO NOT TAP NEIL PEART’S CYMBAL!
I drove a mile or so to Duff’s Famous Wings, where I’d been once before…
Shorts only—sixty minutes or less.
So I finished reading to an empty cafe, feeling more and more ridiculous by the minute. Even Adam had gone outside to talk on the phone with his booking agent.
Seeing a person cry or exclaim with joy is simply embarrassing. We don’t “hate” emotions because hate is too strong a word, but we would very much like it if people would just cope with their troubles in silence and keep a lid on the histrionics.
I hit my target weight today.
The class is meant to give students a cultural/historical perspective on death, and I would guess for many of them it’s the easiest class on their schedule.
I should stress that with a few exceptions, it’s not my intention to be critical of the things on this list but to point out my own limitations as a listener, reader, etc.
A man bailed out of the driver’s side, and, while running around to the back of his car—presumably to reach the wooded area nearby—vomited.