Steve Vernon

“At the end of the day this is nothing more than a blog. It's nice to hit them high notes - but REALLY - how significant do you think something that sort of sounds like the sound of a flatulent frog being run over by a clown car really needs to be?”

“It is midnight in the hard part of town. The mask is itching like it always does. The ragged end of my cape is soaking in a puddle of something I don't want to guess about. I'm crouched behind a kicked-in aluminum trash can. It stinks of rotted meat and drunkard's piss - and I feel right at home. (from Nothing to Lose)”

“What did grown men see in the rattle of sticks, the slashing of steel over ice and hockey sweaters worn way beyond funk?”

“So as near as I could tell the end of the world began roughly about the time that Billy Carver’s butt rang about halfway through the War of 1812.”

“My first jailbreak began when a coarse-toothed mechanic’s file crashed through the window of the Deeper Harbour PoliceStation at two in the morning. The file bounced three or four times before clattering to a halt among a scatter of shattered glass. The file spun a little and came to rest, like a compass needle pointing somewhere far off the edge of the map. Looking back from right here and right now I believe I would like to start this story right then—three days after I had just turned fourteen—spending my birthday in jail. - SINKING DEEPER”