The stories he told were often untrue though so entertaining, everyone often got caught up in their grandeur and peculiarity. They seemed loosely based in reality though with heavy doses of exaggeration and conjecture.
The flat desert stretched before him like a bowling alley. The tan expanse still felt intimate with stars hung low in the sky like reflections from a disco ball. These nights Carlos could feel the languid oppression of distant stars.
The plays at this particular theater had a propensity to be lavish but poorly acted. It was as if they had spent the entire time in the Home section of Macy’s and had never bothered to rehearse at all. Why would anyone waste such lace?
There lay his life. In one selfish act, he destroyed everything he cared about. Charlotte had such great legs though. He needed to feel them wrapped around his waist. And now his lawn was peppered with clothes and books.