“Killer skirt, deadly legs.”

“I need to get back to work,” Patch said. He gave me a once-over that lingered a bit below the hips. “Killer skirt. Deadly legs.”

“A Vampire!" I stammered. Then I noticed her legs. Below the cheerleader skirt, her left leg was brown and shaggy with a donkey's hoof. Her right leg was shaped like a human leg was it was made of bronze. "Uhh, a vampire with-""Don't mention the legs!" Tammi snapped. "It's rude to make fun.”

“The piled-up dead of political violence are a generic staple of our information diet these days, and according to the generic report all massacres are created equal: the dead are innocent, the killers monstrous, the surrounding politics insane or nonexistent...The anonymous dead and their anonymous killers become their own context. The horror becomes absurd.”

“She stands, her skirt taking a moment to fall down her leg, and I follow her, because right now she's my white rabbit...”

“His happiness was almost painful, like circulation returning to a dead leg.”