Humans were peculiar. They were by turns squeamish and appallingly violent.
Hating politics was like hating the weather. Pointless, since both were inevitable.
But when you slice truth too thin, you deceive.
This was what she needed… the quiet turning to the other in the middle of the night, the wordless meeting of lips, skin, breath. The trust, unfurling one pale petal at a time, that he would be there.
Fear and bigotry don’t need explaining. They simply are, like traffic jams and taxes.
What?" She drew herself up, stern as a cat presented with the wrong food for dinner.