The paper landed on the table, but the news was stapled to his chest. A tattoo.

People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.

I am hunted by humans.

I'm gonna hunt my life down and grab it.

Sometimes you read a book so special that you want to carry it around with you for months after you've finished just to stay near it.

I also fear that nothing really ends at the end. Things just keep going as long as memory can wield its ax, always finding a soft part in your mind to cut through and enter.

Humans have a talent for escalation. -Death