There’s something magical about the sound of breaking glass. Especially around a mob. It works for both humans and Hellions. If you want to start a riot, throw a bottle.
There’s dead and there’s Hollywood dead, and those are two very different things. Dead is just dead. In the ground. Pennies on your eyes. A cold slab of meat with no slaw and definitely no dessert.
Then don’t tell me who to kill and when. It unsettles my tranquil disposition.
The things we do to stay alive for another year. Another day. Another hour. The deals we make with the universe and ourselves. You start to feel dirty.
The smell that hits me is almost overwhelming. Familiar and alien at the same time. Hellion food tastes like what a butcher shop throws in the trash and then a hobo sleeps on it for a couple of days.
The smaller Hellion was in sleeveless black robes. Every inch of visible skin was tattooed in sacred Hellion script, like he’d been mugged by the tiniest graffiti crew in the universe. Big Boy looked...
The only way I can attract more attention is if I was towing a Spanish galleon full of half-naked cheerleaders with flare guns.
Shit, Jonny mumbled as he stepped on something soft and clinging in the doorway of the abandoned hotel. Then Shit again as he recognized the accuracy of his curse.
IT’S WEIRD starting over from zero. It changes the scale of your ambitions. Instead of fantasizing about what kind of mansion you'll buy when you win the lottery, you ask yourself,
I hope watching the Bradys depresses them as much as being trapped here in Creation’s shit pipe depresses me.
Hell, boy. At some point, all fathers want to kill their sons. Just like all sons think about killing their old man. They’re too much alike or they’re not enough alike. It doesn’t matter. What’s beaut...
Dead, lost, and with only half a pack of smokes. The dictionary definition of Hell. Amen
Carlos comes back with our drinks. What should we drink to? To love, says Brigitte. To the few loyal customers I have left, says Carlos. I have to think for a minute. To the dead. Let’s think of them...
Beautiful. Now I have to burrow like a groundhog into Mason’s basement to the same room where he summoned those things to take me Downtown. Nothing can possibly go wrong with this plan.
And his first name. Jeffrey spelled Geoffrey. Never trust a Geoffrey. Either they’re pretentious pricks or bitter that the family spelled their name funny.
You’re a philosopher. No. Just drunk.
You're quite the humanitarian. By the way, thanks a fuck of a lot for leaving me off your who-to-save list.You're on it, Alfredo Garcia. I just didn't want to say it out loud and have you call me Nanc...
What's that old Sunday school warning about how if you fight dragons too long, you can become one? That's been spinning around in my head for years, long enough that I know I'd rather be a dragon than...
What I do know is that once said, Life is a bucket of shit with a barbed-wire handle.
There's something magical about the sound of breaking glass. Especially around a mob. It works both for humans and Hellions. If you want to start a riot, throw a bottle.