My own eyes try to sleep, but they don't. They stay wide awake as time snarls forward and silence drops down, like measured thought.
The bombs were coming-and so was I.
The Gunman is useless. I know it. He knows it. The whole bank knows it.
I guess that’s the beauty of books. When they finish they don’t really finish.
All my friends seem to be smart arses. Don't ask me why. Like many things, it is what it is.
I want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her.