What're you still doing up? You know all good little ninjas should be in bed, visions of homicidal sugarplums dancing in their heads.

At least that's what his note said, along with a scathing reminder that dishes didn't wash themselves and the fungus in the bathroom was one day away from evolving into sentient life. I folded the note into an airplane and sailed it across the room. It ended up perched jauntily on top of the ancient television. It looked good there and I left it as a tribute to freedom-loving fungi everywhere.

Lies were like acid, corrosive: They could dissolve trust in a heartbeat.

We all have our security blankets in this world. Some are just sharper than others.

You're the little spoon, aren't you?

Niko caught my hand and slapped it lightly down on the bar. “Pistol whipping elderly women isn’t precisely our mission statement, Cal.” I hadn’t been going to pistol-whip her. Yell at her a little more, then pick her up and toss her out into the street. Some risk of a broken hip there, but that wasn’t pistol-whipping… unless she tried to come back in.

Memories - you can't escape them, but you can't let them rule you either.