“There's one near Hoover Street Station. A picture of me, grass growing out of my heart while I'm talking to her.She looked at the wall but she didn't see us.”

“Let me meet Poet, too, but mainly Shadow. The guy who paints in the dark. Paints birds trapped on brick walls and people lost in ghost forests. Paints guys with grass growing from their hearts and girls with buzzing lawn mowers. A guy who paints things like that is a guy I could fall for. Really fall for”

“I spray the sky fast. Eyes ahead and behind. Looking for cops. Looking for anyone I don't want to be here. Paint sails and the things that kick in my head scream from can to brick. See this, see this. See me emptied onto a wall.”

“I'm up for a Shadow hunt." She tries to let us out, but the lock's stuck. "That's weird.""Is this like an omen?" Daisy asks.Jazz unzips her boot and takes it off so she can slam it at the lock. "It's not an omen." Slam. "Tonight." Slam. "Is going to be great." Slam. "I've got a feeling." Slam. She puts her book back on and looks at us. "Okay, we'll have to climb out of here."She stands on the toilet seat and from there to the toilet-roll holder and then heaves herself over the wall. "Impresive," I say, and then we hear her slam to the ground."Less impressive," Daisy says."It doesn't mean anything," Jazz calls. "Trust me. I'm a psychic.”

“I'm psychic," she said, and looked at me looking nervously at the lock. "Psychic. Not pshycho. I'm Jazz Parker.”

“I'm eclectic,' she said to the HDs once and I could see them trying to work out where she plugged in.”

“Kept dreaming of this spot she had on her neck, this tiny country. I wanted to visit, to paint a picture of what I found there, a wall with a road map of her skin.”