The mist hung in the air like a prancing unicorn.
No one needs a first edition. Whoever wrote it; even if it was Moses.
Perhaps living souls had greater phantom powers than the dead.
I have to get out once a week and speak with people or I start thinking I'm the emperor of Abyssinia.
Plutocracy.' It has a perfect nuance: chilly, inaccessible, icy-rich.
If I couldn't get published tomorrow I'd still be writing. It's something to do with feeling so overwhelmed by this experience of life that you have to tell someone about it, and in a way that reorders the experience to make it manageable.