Today he wore a burnt-orange shirt, black pants, and a tie that looked like a street fight at the south end of the color wheel.

Death in anonymity is the ultimate insult to human dignity.

I have a cotillion event. Some yacht-club charity fundraiser thingy. Whitney is insisting, and Kit took her side.” Three wide smiles. “Oh shut up.

I have come to think of violence as a self-perpetuating mania of the power of the aggressive over those less strong.

Ahh! Lady Pillows. So much fluffier than mine.” He took a giant whiff. “Why does everything girlie smell so delightful?” “Because we acknowledge the importance of basic hygiene. And periodically clean our bathrooms.” “Brilliant. I should write that down. After all, it takes a village.

Violence wounds the body and it wounds the soul. Of the predator. Of the prey. Of the mourners. Of collective humanity. It diminishes us all.

I've been accused of being a minimalist writer. I don't like a lot of verbiage in there.