“From the pancake house I drive directly to the county morgue. The contrast is not especially striking.”

“Like Thomas Hardy with his Casterbridge, my own fictional Pennington is based on a well-known English county town, which I embellish with buildings, parks, and houses from my imagination.”

“Michele!” a voice sang out from across the hall. “Are you up? I made pancakes, come eat thembefore they get cold.”Michele’s eyes flickered open. Sleep or pancakes? That was a no-brainer. Her mouth was alreadybeginning to water at the thought of her mom’s specialty. She threw on a robe and fuzzy slippers andpadded through the modest house until she reached the cozy kitchen”

“Take your hallowed halls of Congress or the littered floor of the Stock Exchange, America is built on its pancake houses!”

“What are you doing?" He asks looking intimidating.I shrug, "I want pancakes.""I'll make you pancakes."I laugh and turn around to walk backwards, "I don’t want your pancakes. I want normal pancakes. Not head game pancakes. Not maybe I'll make you happy or maybe I'll scare the shit out of you pancakes. You know?”

“I distrust pious phrases, especially when they issue from my mouth. I try militantly never to be affected by the pious language of the faithful but it is always coming out when you least expect it. In contrast to the pious language of the faithful, the liturgy is beautifully flat. ”