A tsunami evacuation route notice featuring the man from the men’s bathroom sign, leaping in suspended animation towards a triangle hill, as he’s chased by a white block of wave.
Fliers
“Greatness isn’t handed to you!” she urged from the stage, as she addressed a room full of self-proclaimed future billionaires. One thousand of them.
I saw only a clip of her talk,
Tummy down on a yoga mat, my nose is six inches from a deep crack in the cement. At the same time, I’m gazing from a great height through the airplane window
I’ve started attending a Pilates class on Mondays.
It’s held in a studio with walls made entirely of glass. In keeping with the massiveness of my gym, there’s a mural