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Samantha Hart
More books by Samantha Hart…
“The cawing of a big, black crow awoke me early the next morning, but I remained still, pretending to be asleep. I didn’t want to see Ibrahim in the light of day, and I didn’t want to make more small talk. I felt hunger pains through the remnants of champagne and cognac from the night before. I wondered why I hadn’t eaten more, feeling silly about having been so insecure about my culinary etiquette.
Numb and void of emotion, I remained in a state of suspended animation reliving the events of our night of passion. The night before, I pictured silhouettes of angels dancing upon the ceiling in the moonlight, not disconnected bodies lying beneath the covers at a loss for words.”
― Blind Pony: As True A Story As I Can Tell
Numb and void of emotion, I remained in a state of suspended animation reliving the events of our night of passion. The night before, I pictured silhouettes of angels dancing upon the ceiling in the moonlight, not disconnected bodies lying beneath the covers at a loss for words.”
― Blind Pony: As True A Story As I Can Tell
“I was so angry with him, but part of me felt exhilarated by his sheer cockiness. Even under the influence of God knows how many rounds of drinks at Dave’s, Wild Bill still had enough charisma to charm away any negative thoughts.
He never taught me to ride a bike, bandaged a skinned knee, or comforted me over bullies teasing me for wearing Salvation Army clothes. But Wild Bill was my dad. And that was enough.
We both erupted into laughter as I wrapped my arms around him, breathing in the distinctive scent belonging only to Dad.”
― Blind Pony: As True A Story As I Can Tell
He never taught me to ride a bike, bandaged a skinned knee, or comforted me over bullies teasing me for wearing Salvation Army clothes. But Wild Bill was my dad. And that was enough.
We both erupted into laughter as I wrapped my arms around him, breathing in the distinctive scent belonging only to Dad.”
― Blind Pony: As True A Story As I Can Tell
“Over the weekend, Bruce introduced me to the game of backgammon, which was enjoying almost cult-like popularity in Los Angeles. He told me about a private club called PIPS that held tournaments on the weekends and was all the rage. Though I had never played the game before, something about backgammon brought the two hemispheres of my brain together, as Stuart had described.
To win at backgammon, one needs strategy and luck. Bruce reveled in the role of playing teacher, and I knew if I put my mind to it, I could learn the game and become a fierce opponent, which I hoped would amuse Bruce and help keep a roof over my head. We stayed awake until dawn, snorting coke and playing backgammon. I don’t know if it was the game or the cocaine, but something made me intent on becoming the best.”
― Blind Pony: As True A Story As I Can Tell
To win at backgammon, one needs strategy and luck. Bruce reveled in the role of playing teacher, and I knew if I put my mind to it, I could learn the game and become a fierce opponent, which I hoped would amuse Bruce and help keep a roof over my head. We stayed awake until dawn, snorting coke and playing backgammon. I don’t know if it was the game or the cocaine, but something made me intent on becoming the best.”
― Blind Pony: As True A Story As I Can Tell
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