Thoughts are odd misfires.
He was pushing fifty, with a face life had chewed on, and long wisps of graying hair parted low on one side and combed over his balding pate.
I like to get to bed with a clear head.
You have to live where you wake up, even if someone else dreamed you there.
But when I was a little kid, I was always writing stories and illustrating little books that I would create.
I dropped chemistry. I practically blew up the lab in college.