We are loping sequences of chemical conversions, acting ourselves converted. We are twists of genes acting ourselves twisted; we are wicks of burning neuroses acting ourselves wicked. And nothing to be done about it. And nothing to be done about it.

So let my hands and my face make their way in this world, let my hungry eyes see, my tongue taste.

...I dabble in causes and effects.

Not an ugly color, Nanny thought. Just not a human color.

I like to think Im a pretty good-natured guy and pretty civil and probably not ever truly guilty in any serious way of any legal infractions.

So he stalked her again. Love makes hunters of us all.

In summer moonlight, she was dangerously, inebriatingly magnified.