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Index of First Lines

By (March 1, 2016) 2 Comments

Airport, the, he ditched the hearse at
Anything, pretend I didn’t say
Anyway, after all that it rained
Asleep, Gabriel García Márquez just died but you are already

Bed, in the morning we watched the eulogies in
Beehives, she hid his letters in the
Body, I was afraid to find out if that shadow was your
Bones, I will tell you the truth about the

Chicken ranchero, I gazed into the abyss and beheld the
Chickens, here I am once again, burning toast for the
Circus, Dan didn’t use any machines to make his
Closed:, how I would do it with my eyes completely
Copenhagen, she just wasn’t the same when she got back from
Crazy, she had three dogs and half of them were
Cupcake shop, held hostage above the

Desperation, he used to think he’d been tricked into
Drive, there’s no mystery to it it’s just a long-ass

End, I will be asking a lot of questions at the
Excuse, I don’t want to be forgiven, I just want a good

Finch, I just came in to tell you about the
Flower petals, he cleaned up everything starting with the

Geologist flophouse, it was just another
Gin, some days you leave with the tax checks and return with
Guy, he is Nebraska’s Kafka

Hand, laughing with that knife in your
Harp case, they said they’d leave the, in the basement if we wanted
Hypnotist, somewhere—maybe on the way home—she lost the number of the

Idea, as I told you on the phone I have no

Last thing, I need you to do one, for me
Left, in one more minute there’ll be eight
Lodestone, I fell asleep looking up the meaning of

Mentos, because you and me, we’re like Coke and
Morning, the furnace guys were listening to Jim Croce on a cloudy October
Mother, he wanted to be a dentist like his

Necklace, no to the knife and keys. Yes to the
Numbers, their language has an absence of

Onion, the first man my mother loved was the one who showed her how to cut an
Open, it is a beautiful night, and so the door of the pedicure salon is propped

Pants, I need to ask you something about these
Peaches, sounds to me like you just answered your own question about what to do about your
Penitentiary, from that distance I couldn’t tell if it was a reservoir or a
Porn collection, when I said his dad was 450 pounds but had an extensive, I didn’t mean to imply

Rid of the truck, you need to get, fast

Self-explanatory, if my name were the Human Torch I’d be
Shrine, that’s not a, just a table with some stuff I’m trying to clear off
Sing, just make it, you fucker
Strudel, she made, between the funeral and Easter egg class and baked it after

Truck, he locked the falcon overnight with the periscope in the

Us, here lies Vera god help

Was known for taking the first photograph of the sun, Foucault
Wingspans, speaking of huge
Written, they said they were the saddest polkas ever

Thomas Brendler‘s writing has appeared in McSweeney’s and other venues. He studied forestry at Yale University.