He's Gandalf on crack and an IV of Red Bull, with a big leather coat and a .44 revolver in his pocket.

Here there be monster." Bob whispered, half hysterically. "Run! Run already!

Sometimes it isn't easy to be sane, smart, and responsible. Sometimes it sucks. Sucks wang. Camel wang. But that doesn't turn wrong into right or stupid into smart.

At the moment I was mad enough to chew up nails and spit out paper clips.

I could buy that she would murder me in a fit of rage, poison me out of flaming jealousy, or bomb my car out of sheer, stubborn pique. But she would never do it and feel nothing.

There is a primal reassurance in being touched, in knowing that someone else, someone close to you, wants to be touching you. There is a bone-deep security that goes with the brush of a human hand, a silent, reflex-level affirmation that someone is near, that someone cares.

But the only way never to do the wrong thing is never to do anything.