Where have you been?" I stepped into my apartment and met Uncle Bob's glare with one of my own. "Out trying to pass myself off as a movie producer to get hot guys to sleep with me. Where have you been?

Somebody has to be sane during regular business hours, and it's not going to be me, missy.

Have they even seen the Winchester boys? Sammy and Dean's existence proves there is a god and she is a woman.

The dead guy looked at me with wide eyes. “I can’t move my legs.” I snorted. “You can’t move your arms either, or your feet or your freaking eyelids. You’re dead.

Where am I going and why am I in this handbasket? ~Bumper sticker~

Reyes Farrow. Because perfection is a dirty job, but someone has to do it.

Friends don't let friends get killed by serial killers