“Every forty-three blinks, the flashing lights on the police cars that follow my van into Houston synchronize. They flash separately for a few turns, then start flashing in series, like leading-in lights. Then, for a second, they all flash at once. What I learn as I’m driving into Houston under the low, still clouds, and choppers, for the first day of my trial, is that life works the same way. Most of the time you feel the potential for synchrony, but only once in a while do things actually synch up.”
“Once in a while, I smell Clive on my skin and it stops my day. It's a train crossing; I wait to pass. Eventually the lights stop flashing, the barriers lift. I keep moving.”
“If I had a nickel for every time I heard the words 'I don't want to ruin our friendship ' I wouldn't be driving a car with an ominously flashing 'check engine' light.”
“I was getting depressed. My life wasn't going anywhere. I needed something, the flashing of lights, glamour, some damn thing. And here I was, talking to the dead. I finished my first drink. The second was ready.”
“In the stutter-flashes of light, the clouds look like huge transparent brains filled with bad thoughts.”
“I stood up in a flash and flushed a light shade of furious.”