C A Deyton

“The old-fashioned bravado started pissing me off. I pierced my lips together as my nostrils flared. Over 100 years old and boys will still be boys. I hoped for a little bit more maturity.”

“Let me get this straight. I tell you I am a 185 year old vampire, and that you’re okay with. But angel incarnate you refuse to believe?”

“I don’t understand death. For that matter, I don’t really understand life. You live. You suffer. You die. It hardly seems worth doing. Yet, here I am, robotically taking a fresh breath every few seconds, standing in this awkward brown and orange polyester waitress uniform, pretending to listen to Mr. Chester go on about his bunions for the second time this week, pouring the evening’s thirty-second cup of coffee and trying so hard to put the events of the last four weeks behind me.”