Life's only obligation, afterall, was to be interesting.

And as always seems to happen when I have reached the point where I am ready to take decisive action, everything began to happen at once.

And then more quiet, silence so deep it almost drowned out the roar of the night music that pounded away in my secret self.

I often find myself in situations where it seems to me like everyone else has read the instruction book

I'm a very neat monster.

A reasonable being might think that he and I could find some common ground; have a cup of coffee and compare our Passengers, exchange trade talk and chitchat about dismemberment techniques. But no: Doakes wanted me dead. And I found it difficult to share his point of view.

Of course it was a terrible thing, and the world would be a much better place without someone in it who could do that, but did that mean we had to miss lunch?