Only poor people are weird. Rich people are eccentric.

I trusted her about as far as I could throw her. I was strong and she was small, but it still wasn't very far.

Oh, it's you," Curran's voice said quietly. "I thought it was an elephant.

He strained to say something else. I leaned toward him. He focused on me. “Rape,” he promised. “Many, many times. Until you bleed . . .” “I’m so flattered.

Any messages for me?" Usually I got one or two, but mostly people who wanted my help preferred to talk in person. "Yes. Hold on." She pulled out a handful of pink tickets and recited from memory, without checking the paper. "Seven forty-two a.m., Mr. Gasparian: I curse you. I curse your arms so they wither and die and fall off your body. I curse your eyeballs to explode. I curse your feet to swell until blue. I curse your spine to crack. I curse you. I curse you. I curse you.

Help me, I can’t breathe, your ego is pushing all the air out of the room.

I gave him a smile. I was aiming for sweet, but he turned a shade paler and scooted a bit farther from me. Note to self: work more on sweet and less on psycho-killer.