Word: sweating
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...other hand, you are Bob Heise or John Balaz, it means having to sweat out every ground out to third because it may be your last in a Red Sox uniform for quite a while...
After the women's stories move to this country, they tend to follow a similar pattern. First an eager attempt to combine ten-hour days in sweat shops with night school or high school, then surrender to the necessities of existence, to marriage, to children, and finally, in most cases, to prosperity. Here the stories fade, but you can still fill in the details-vacations in Florida, presidencies of ladies auxiliaries, retirement. The metamorphosis from rebellious young woman, clamoring for education, to the more familiar image of Jewish grandmother, gloating over snapshots of her grandchildren, seems complete...
...perfume from an aloof Wellesley woman(wearing the Art Deco print shirt with the picture of slim men sipping cocktails under palms) and then even asked her to dance, and been snubbed. And they had carried all that out with them when they left, ditching only their butts, sweat and lashes. All that went out at 3:30 a.m. in great beige plastic bags. The beer, which by 4 had made its way out of the bags, dripped down five floors oblivious of the stairs, and puddled malodorously at the bottom. None...
...wino clutched the neck of his brown paper bag and lurched through the door. I realized with a quick chill that I was alone, totally alone. Suddenly, as the doors slid shut, a trio of leather-jacketed, acne-scarred youth darted onto the train. The stench of beer and sweat and corruption filled my nostrils. As one of the toughs sprawled insolently across a seat, another flicked his switchblade open and shut in dull, menacing repetition...
Turning around and around and around with only the slightest trace of ballet training, the boy refuses to sweat. He whirls on a small round platform set eight feet above the crowd, nearly nude, brandishing a large glimmering orange cape. A dark oval beauty-mark is stencilled on the front of his thigh. He thinks about how hot it is under the lights. Up here on the smooth plaster cylinder he is safe; it is his turf, aloof, contained. Despite the energy of his grinding movements, no emotion glides over his soft face and glazed eyes. Perhaps he imagines that...