Bob had a dog buscuit stuck to his head. "How does he always get food stuck to him?" I asked Morelli. "I don't know," Morelli said. "It's a Bob mystery. I think stuff falls out of his mouth and he rolls in it. I'm not sure." -Morelli And Stephanie

My mother drove back to the intersection. "Who are you dating?" "Don't ask," I said. I wasn't dating anyone. I was fornicating with Batman.

I took the stool next to him, raising an eyebrow at the coffee and cruller on the counter. "Thought you weren't into internal pollution," I said. Lately Ranger'd been on a health food thing. "Props," Ranger told me. "Didn't want to look out of place." I didn't want to burst his fantasy bubble, but the only time Ranger wouldn't look out of place would be standing in a lineup between Rambo and Batman.

I knew there were no such things as death cooties. Unfortunately, that's an intellectual fact. And death cooties are an emotional reality.

He’s sort of a homeless horse,” I said. “I’m leaving for the airport in two seconds, and I won’t be back for a couple days. You can put the horse in the garage, but I don’t want that horse in my apartment.” “Who would put a horse in an apartment? That’s dumb.” “Where’s the horse staying now?” “My apartment.” “I can always count on you to brighten my day,” Ranger said. And he disconnected.

I've finally reached a stage in my career where I can do what I want.

I see you looking at my cookies,' my father said to Morelli. 'Don't even think about it. Go get your own cookies.