Just then a worm, no wider than a ring finger and no thicker than a few sheets of paper, pushed forward several inches out of her mouth. From The Worm, an upcoming novel excerpted in the current issue of Tin House.
Trapped in the bright July sunlight pouring in through the open doorway, he was at that point in his fantasy where Gloria was begging him to split her in two with his big, hairy monster; his poor hand couldn’t have stopped if the old man had chopped it off and thrown it to the dogs. From "Hair's Fate" in Pollock's superlative short story collection Knockemstiff.
[Pollock has] written some of the most arresting opening lines I’ve read in a long time: “I was coming down off the Mitchell Flats with three arrowheads in my pocket and a dead copperhead hung around my neck like an old woman’s scarf when I caught a boy named Truman Mackey fucking his own little sister in the Dynamite Hole.” From a profile on Pollock in The Millions. Read it here.
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