I thought it odd that the woman was over a thousand years old but thought the microwave was primitive.

You need me, just whistle," he said as he arranged his ball cap over his eyes against the sun leaking through the frost-emptied branches. "You're not coming?" Lifting the brim of his cap, he eyed me, "You want me to?" he asked blandly. "Not really, no." He dropped the brim and laced his hands over his middle. "Then why are you bitching? It's a crime scene, not a grocery store.

Like the end of a picnic, all the weenies will be roasted.

Go to sleep, baby,Mama will sing. Of blue butterflies, and dragonfly wings. Moonlight and sunbeams, raiments so fine. Silver and gold, for baby of mine. Go to sleep, baby. Sister will tell, of wolves and of lambs, and demons who fell.-Pierce's Lullaby Kim Harrison (Black Magic Sanction)

Do you have a sleeping bag?” I stared at him. “No. I lost it in the great salt-dip of ’06.

For all his sourness, he was ruled by his heart.

I wish I could say I write 9-5. It's usually more like 8-6, every day but the weekends.