ANNA sits at the defendant’s table looking around uncertainly, wearing only her pajama shorts and her boyfriend’s t-shirt.

PROSECUTOR walks across the room, dropping off a paper at the JUDGE’S STAND. She looks similar to Anna except her hair is neatly brushed and she is wearing a professional suit.

THE STENOGRAPHER sits on the other side of the room across from the jury. She looks nearly identical to ANNA, wearing glasses and a skirt.

Beware the man who looks like he should be tossing tuna carcasses at the Fulton Fish Market, who calls himself a urologist, and is bearing a tube with a camera on it, headed for your penis …

“I’m not numb yet” I say, but he proceeds to ram the tube inside me. 

Apparently, a preposition is a bad word to end a sentence with. I don’t know if that’s a grammatical rule you’re obligated to adhere to. There seem to be so many examples in literature which this rule doesn’t apply in. Or to. I suspect this is the kind of “rule” like the “rule” of never using the split infinitive in English because it’s not permitted in Latin, a language that’s impossible to use it in.

“Where’s your IUD?” Dr. El-Taj asked.

“Somewhere in Florida,” I answered.

I think I left it behind a Burger King dumpster off U.S. 1, somewhere between Miami and Marathon Key.

I barely remember first hearing about 9/11. But I can tell you exactly the weather, what I wore, and where I sat when I received what I thought was an accidental email from the University of Washington Office of Admissions.