So far, being dead is about as much fun as a barbed-wire G-string. Yes,
The 405 is one breakdown away from turning into the Donner Party.
Are you asking because you want to see if doc can turn you into a librarian when all this is over? [p.240:]
Words are weapons. They blast big bloody holes in the world. And words are bricks. Say something out loud and it starts turning solid. Say it out loud enough and it becomes a wall you can’t get throug...
Ray comes out a few seconds later, wiping his hands on a small towel. He’s in a white shirt and tan pants. In good shape. He’s sandy haired and wearing Buddy Holly glasses. Ray could be a computer pro...
Besides, do you think you would have come if I’d just popped into your tattoo shop one night around closing andsaid, ‘Hello, I’m the Prince of Darkness. Think you could help me outwith a little war ne...
But she’s not going to call the cops or stab me in my sleep, and what more can you ask of a pretty girl?
Calm down. Deep breaths. Go to your happy place. Oh, wait. I don’t have one.
Chasing a burning girl down a city street is a lot harder than it sounds. Civilians tend to stop and stare and this turns them into human bowling pins. Slow whiny bowling pins.
God's nature has always been multifold, and never more than now. He dances with a dove in one hand and an ax in the other.
Her wild hair hangs down like dead weeds and she’s wearing a dress that looks like she took it off a Disney princess, tossed it in a grain thresher, and got an ape to sew it back together.
The Magistrate and Empress stand arm in arm like the monster-movie American Gothic.
I might be dead and damned for all eternity but I’m not addle-brained. I remember.
The five of us are the big brains supposedly in charge of Hell. Really, we’re a bunch of second-rate mechanics trying to keep the wheels from coming off a burning gasoline truck skidding toward a scho...
I whisper some hoodoo and put on the glamour I used last night. Again, Sinclair and the roaches are startled. To Sandoval’s credit, she just looks me over like she’s selecting which lobster in the tan...
I wonder if this is one of those things they call a teachable moment. What it’s supposed to teach me, I have no idea.
The Magistrate hasn’t said a word this whole time. He just stands there like a mantis, all insect patience and killer instincts.
This fire is a big deal. A huge deal. A giant, flaming, goddamn, piece-of-shit, agonizing, I-want-to-rip-my-own-head-off deal.
It means the faction found us. He looks around again. How? How the fuck do I know? Spy satellites? Facial recognition pigeons on the freeway signs? Ballerinas with Uzis? What does it matter? Just hit...
When you jump off a cliff, is it better to land on jagged rocks or burning lava? I know this one. The answer is obvious: It doesn’t matter where you land. You just jumped off a cliff.
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