I was raised feral, and I mostly stayed that way.

To spend a life in dreams, that sounded too lovely.

I'd come to believe there was no food more depressing than Danish, a pastry that seemed stale upon arrival

Give me a man with a little fight in him, a man who calls me on my bullshit. (But who also kind of likes my bullshit.)

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.

Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.

There's no app for a bourbon buzz on a warm day in a cool, dark bar. The world will always want a drink.