I'm really too tired to make much of an entry, so I figured I'd let some of my various projects to the talking for me, in the shape of brief quotes from each (bonus points if you can match them with the right story!)

• With a wordless sound of frustration, Marcy finally moved, turning away from him. Her boots slipped in the packed snow, and William fought the urge to try to catch her, to keep her from falling.
  
  I guess you’re on your own now, he thought, watching her arms go flying into the air for balance. You’ve got to take care of yourself. But you’ll be back.
  
  
  
• George “Paul Bunyan” Grunion had just risen from the splintery bench in the dugout, his sixty-two-year old back aching, as his dusty players ran onto the field, gloves and towels and Trang’s broken bat all flying into the air, when he saw Coach “Beanpole” Worrell fall flat on his face, a thin white tree dropped with one stroke of an invisible axe.
  
  
  
• Buried, but still living. Rotting but never decomposing. Numb but still in pain. Dead but still somehow alive...

And an oldie but a goodie, currently undergoing revisions for possible publication:

• It was fitting that we caught sight of him walking barefoot next to the autobahn, where it would be a real bitch to stop in time to pick him up. But we were nothing if not up for a challenge. I brought the Firebird screeching to a stop next to him on the nearly non-existent shoulder and opened the passenger door. Traffic screamed past us like bullets as the little man lifted his robes and stepped into the car. Yeshev had jumped into the backseat and onto Marco’s lap, crushing Annina and Ari in the process. The Buddha rode shotgun.