I hate high heels. Walking in high heels for eight hours a day should be forbidden by the Geneva Convention.

I change the world, the world changes me.

Agent Jones held Sinjin’s face in his hands. “I’m going to make balloon animals. People need balloon animals.” “How right you are, strange delusional man,” Sinjin said.

The glow dies down, and she's standing at the end of my bed--the one who's been following me around leaving feather messages. I take in the torn fishnets, plaid mini-kilt, shiny, riveted breastplate with leather straps at the sides and a worn Great Temolo decal near the left shoulder. Her wings are a crazy black-and-white-checkered pattern, like they've been spray-painted at a body shop to look like hipster sneakers.

You couldn't be perfect enough to keep the world from betraying you.

My cholera's acting up again.

It was a kiss small in its ministrations but epic in its feeling.