“My anus, like the inside of my nose, is something I can finger but can't examine.”
“If I had nostrils on my index fingers, I wonder what the inside of my nose would smell like?”
“I gave blood today. It came gushing out of my nose. And anus.”
“My ears are as blind as my eyes are deaf. But my nose, it can see the truth, except when I block its line of site with my index fingers.”
“Grief, I swear to God, doesn't live in the heart. It lives in the senses. And sometimes, all I want to do is cut off my nose so I can't smell her, hack my fingers off at the joint.”
“Do you like me? You know, like me like me?"I cringe the moment I ask and cover my face with my hands. The smell of blood and trail dirt wafts into my nose. Something sinks inside me. What is it? Oh, I know, any dignity I could possibly have left.”