Shouting through the depths of the basement, the maintenance supervisor nearly strained his vocal cords. "How long am I supposed to spend hunting you down? Steve, quit slacking! You need to clear out the courtyard over at Building Fifteen. The leaves have piled up like crazy—people are practically drowning in them." Picking up his broom and shovel, the maintenance worker trudged toward the address, muttering a colorful critique of his boss under his breath. Steve had been working for the city's public works department for five years and had never once let management down. Lately, however, people had noticed a ...

Mary was forty-five. Some of her friends looked years younger. They took care of themselves, frequenting spas, swimming pools, and fitness clubs while maintaining strict diets. For them, appearances were a top priority. The same could not be said for Mary. At eighteen, she had married Mark. She hadn't felt any grand, sweeping passion for him, but when he proposed six months into their courtship, she said yes. At first, she didn’t realize how different they truly were. Mark preferred to spend his free time partying with friends, gatherings that never went without plenty of alcohol; he found being at ...

After greeting the delivery truck, Jessica showed the workers where to stack the cement, paint, and other building supplies. While the weather was still warm, she had decided to do some repairs on her aging house. It desperately needed an update; the foundation had begun to settle, and the roof had started leaking last fall, though some patched-up shingles were currently keeping the rain at bay. Just then, her neighbor approached her. "Hey, Jess, still fussing over that shack of yours? You really put yourself through the wringer, running around like a hamster on a wheel." Knowing her neighbor wouldn't ...

"Hi, Sophie!" a little girl chirped, darting out of the apartment ahead of her mother. In her hands, she clutched a tiny toy locomotive and a bright plastic bucket overflowing with assorted sand molds. "Hey, Veronica! Hello, Mrs. Miller!" the young woman opening the door to the neighboring apartment replied instantly. She was balancing three bulging grocery bags that were clearly making it difficult for her to manage the lock. "Oh, what have we here? Planning a grand feast or building an entire fortress in the sand?" Sophie asked with playful interest, crouching down to get a better look at ...

My wife used to call me a "savage" because I refused to have any "refined" feelings for art—specifically, for the avant-garde plays at her theater. In my view, their theater was a bit too avant-garde. Some of the things they staged were hard to even categorize as art. They called it a "liberated perspective" or "contemporary vision." That kind of vision made my skin crawl, while my wife, Laura, was appalled by my supposed thick-skinned insensitivity. "How can someone have such an amputated perception of creativity?" she’d exclaim. "Especially when it comes to the stage! This is theater, for heaven’s ...