I love language, words, and all the lovely, exciting, and heart wrenching things you can do with them. Pick the right ones, put them in the right order, and you’ve created a moment in time where the reader forgets about the late car payment, the dirty dishes, the impending workweek. You have created a state of bliss. Or negligence, depending on your perspective.

He bombarded me with words, of all things, apparently clueless to the fact that the predawn hours rendered me incapable of coherent thought.

Looks like macho boy's cool just melted like a Slush Puppie in August.

You’re just using me for my body.” “You don’t have a body,” I’d remind him. “Throw that in my face.” “Technically, you don’t have a face either.

A guy in an SUV tried to kill me.” “That’s strange.” “Why?” “Because the guy I hired doesn’t drive an SUV.” “That is strange.

I sort of got off on making bad guys sweat. Which was not unlike my love of making good guys sweat, just by very different means.

My plans often went awry. Much like my thoughts. Hold the phones. Maybe Saan had ADD, too. It would explain a lot.