I live to feel her fingers move inside of me like this. The bus makes another stop. A fat man climbs aboard, hauling himself up the stairs. I would kill him for one more moment with her fingers inside me. I don’t have to. She gives me my moment for free. He lives because of her generosity. We all live because of her generosity.

I have a form of ESP that allows me to consistently pick losing lottery numbers, and generally make poor life choices.

Depression is like slashing at ghosts. Of course it's tempting to finally cut something real.

I feel the way bank robbers must feel before they go out on that last job that ends up getting them all killed. That is to say, optimistic.

Well, it's possible to be mentally ill and rational.

Satellite images, maps and blueprints of the whole world, of every city. We could look it up and know what's there in someone else's words. Or we could get wicked drunk and just go.

Listening to music that I hate calms me down.