All you will get from me is death.

I sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter what we do. Money comes and goes.’ I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t matter and you know it doesn’t.

It is hard to find a friend,' I said. 'It is the hardest thing in this world,' he agreed.

Here is another miserable mental image I will have to catalog and make room for.

Where is your mother, Charlie asked. Dead. I’m sorry to hear that Thank you. But she was always dead.

Our blood is the same, we just use it differently.

I saw my bulky person in the windows of the passing storefronts and wondered, when will that man there find himself to be loved?