First Lines of Stories I’ve Not Yet Written

I didn’t expect bubbles.

“Well, one of us is lying.”

The call came at 3 a.m. and no one was dead, but Lee was racing back and forth through an elderly woman’s lawn on a horse.
I forgot my hair was blue.

Name a kid ‘Tuesday’ and you’re pretty much inviting the world to beat him senseless.

I have 200 knishes in my car and we just buried my father.

I coughed on him and I’d do it again.

“Sure honey, I understand.” Kat had said that so many times this month that she was thinking of printing it on a t-shirt.

He was a Sabbath observer and, according to the sticker on his front door, a member of the National Rifle Association.

Only mosquitos find me sweet these days, and frankly, I question their judgement.

Clyde never believed that full moons brought out the weirdos until he met Dana, the emergency room nurse.

Dominatrix by night; spin instructor by day.

The shower stung like a bed of nails.

When you found even his handwriting attractive, you knew you had it bad.

I take excessive pride in my Manhattan street-crossing abilities.

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