You need me as much as I need you. That makes us equal partners in my book. Well, your book is just wrong.

I've spent enough time behind a bar that I've formed a few opinions about what people wear and what it says about them. Guys who wear black from head to toe fall into two categories: they want to be trouble, or they are trouble.

How do you kill a vampire?"-Mac "Hope hes not"-Barrons

Hope is a critical thing. Whithout it, we are nothing. Hope shapes will. The will shapes the world.

Fear and doubt are major stampeders.

I contemplate the notion that maybe regrets are a process of accumulation of time, as unavoidable as a closet full of clothes and more bags of them in the attic. Is accumulated baggage what makes people get old? If so, they need to clean out their fecking attics, send the stuff to consignment shops and remember how to walk around naked like kids, little bellies sticking out, always ready for a good laugh.

Could words and symbols wield such power? Could mere scribblings on parchment unmake a person's moral fiber? Weren't we made of sterner stuff?