I just want to write someone’s favorite book

You might argue that I make the rounds no matter what year it is, but sometimes the human race likes to crank things up a little. They increase the production of bodies and their escaping souls.

Around us I can sniff out a savagery in the noisy southern air. It knifes it's way into my nose, but I do not bleed blood. It's fear I bleed, and it gushes out over my lip. I wipe it away, in a hurry.

She was one if the few souls that made me wonder what's it to live.

She took a step and didn't want to take any more, but she did.

He prefers not to ruin things with any more questions. What it is is what it is.

I'd rather chase the sun than wait for it.