Nick is like a good stiff drink: He gives everything the correct perspective.

I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ. Slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could stomp on it.

She released her grievances like handfuls of birdseed: They are there, and they are gone.

Nick is like a good stiff drink: He gives everything the correct perspective.

I've always been partial to the image of liquor as lubrication, a layer of protection from all the sharp thoughts in your head.

What an indulgence it would be, to just blow off my head, all my mean spirits disappearing with a gun blast, like blowing a seedy dandelion apart.

My dad had limitations. That's what my good-hearted mom always told us. He had limitations, but he meant no harm. It was kind of her to say, but he did do harm.