I sat in the dark and thought: There’s no big apocalypse. Just an endless procession of little ones.

It's one thing to want money, but if you find yourself choking on a coin as you wake, the money is slightly less desirable.

When I was a child, adults would tell me not to make things up, warning me of what would happen if I did. As far as I can tell so far, it seems to involve lots of foreign travel and not having to get up too early in the morning.

There are some dogs which, when you meet them, remind you that, despite thousands of years of man-made evolution, every dog is still only two meals away from being a wolf. These dogs advance deliberately, purposefully, the wilderness made flesh, their teeth yellow, their breath a-stink, while in the distance their owners witter, "He's an old soppy really, just poke him if he's a nuisance," and in the green of their eyes the red campfires of the Pleistocene gleam and flicker.

And did I pass?" The face of the old woman on my right was unreadable in the gathering dusk. On my left the younger woman said, "You don't pass or fail at being a person, dear.

I was not happy as a child, although from time to time I was content. I lived in books more than I lived anywhere else.

Have been unavoidably detained by the world. Expect us when you see us.