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.

I know people who will gently persuade you to be forthcoming.

I'm counting to ten in my head." "Is it helping?" "No." "It doesn't help me with you either. I used to life weights to alleviate frustration, but someone blowtorched my weight bench. How did you do it, by the way?" "I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you.

Anger - a better alternative to caffeine.

The universe shrank to Curran and his pain. I had to break him free. Nothing else mattered.

You replaced me with a shaved poodle?” “He’s got mad skills.” Derek’s eyebrows crept up. “He can vomit and urinate at the same time and he doesn’t make fun of my car.

I think I've been rather reasonable about this whole situation." "How do you figure?" "They are still breathing, aren't they?