After the 9/11 apocalypse happened in New York City, people, particularly New Yorkers, who breathed in the ash, or saw the results of that, have a tendency to keep seeing echoes and having flashbacks to it.

All is forgotten in the stone halls of the dead. These are the rooms of ruin where the spiders spin and the great circuits fall quiet, one by one.

I've spread my legs in the backseat in a creative sense quite a few times.

It was as hysterical as a woman having a hot flash.

Sometimes the only thing to do is to take the thing that you must have. Even if someone gets hurt.

Writing is seduction.

I don't want to speak too disparagingly of my generation (actually I do, we had a chance to change the world but opted for the Home Shopping Network Instead).