Do you remember the time when you first found God? For me it was the time I decided to go geocaching with Rowan and the midget twins.

Knock. Knock. Marla’s eyes jerked open. She sat up in bed and nudged the shoulder of her husband, Vince. “Vince, do you hear that?”

It was somewhere near midnight, and Jeff and I were over at the cemetery bombing the hill on our longboards.

Ted knew he had a long wait ahead of him, so he might as well get comfortable.

I heard a UFC podcast once, the host said coming out of a chokehold-induced blackout is something like euphoria.

Roger slipped his crowbar between the boards, tapped it firm with his hammer, and gave it a pry.

The flames were already starting to lick the grates when Frank shut the lid of the grill. He pulled a faded kerchief from his back pocket and mopped his brow.

Thornton walked slowly up the front steps with his hand on the wrought-iron railing.

I grabbed my backpack, shut the car door behind me, and waved back at Dad. Then I fell into a pack of other freshmen as we all approached the new shiny high school.

If he stood here in the CVS aisle any longer Will figured he might start growing roots.

The pheasant meat simmered merrily in its bath of white wine and cream alongside diced mushrooms and shallots.

Pete Wilson was on his front porch in his peeling rocking chair. He was a forgotten man.

Tony was babbling again by the time his father came out onto the back porch with the phone to his ear.

The weed whacker wouldn’t start. Jerry swore under his breath and dropped to his knees. He checked the fuel tank. Full.

As the nurse was helping me into the wheelchair, I remembered something the pastor of my childhood church back in Georgia liked to say: