But all I could see was her. No skill of mine, no artist anywhere, could’ve immortalized how gorgeous she was. It was impossible to believe she’d ever had any doubts about her body. The firelight shone on her skin, golden and perfect, making her look like some radiant goddess of legend. I wanted to kneel before her and offer eternal obedience.

Screw you," I told him in a low voice. "Are you offering?” "From what I've heard, there isn't much to screw," I shot back.

This is politics. People in power never have to play by the same rules.

Why not the Bahamas? Or the Corn Palace?

That's the great thing about being a writer. You dream up amazing questions... and then dream up even more amazing answers.

We all screw up. Everyone makes mistakes. That’s what she did. It was bad judgment, that’s all. You don’t cut off the people you love for mistakes like that.

Some rules are bigger than the universe.