“Mid-December then and still no snow. Strange Chicago crèches appeared in front yards: Baby Jesus, freed from the manger, leaned against a Santa sled half his height. He was crouching, as if about to jump; he wore just a diaper. Single strings of colored lights lay across bushes, as if someone had hatefully thrown them there. We patched the roof of a Jamaican immigrant whose apartment had nothing in it but hundreds of rags, spread across the floor and hanging from interior clotheslines. Nobody asked why. As we left, she offered us three DietRite Colas.”

“As long as you have any floor space at all, you have room for books! Just make two stacks of books the same height, place them three or four feet apart, lay a board across them, and repeat. Voila! Bookshelves!”

“There were hundreds of them spread across the floor, each telling its own tale of triumph or sadness, each letter representing a phase in her life. She had kept them all.”

“Charis sipped, smiling back. "...I saw God everywhere."Grif narrowed his eyes. "Really?"She nodded and leaned close. "We were actually pen pals. I'd write Him letters in Latin and leave them in my closet.""Why the closet?"She shrugged. "Because He didn't appear after I set my front yard's bushes on fire, so I decided He was shy.”

“For example, they recently had a piece on a character--I think his name was Ambrosio D'Urbervilles--whose "design statement" was to stuff an entire apartment from floor to ceiling with dark purple cottonballs. He called it "Portrait of a Dead Camel Dancing on the Roof of a Steambath.”

“What up Brit-Boy?""I was just wondering," he said,"about the significance of your canine collar."Why was the collar such a big deal? Back home, half the girls wore them. "It was a gift from someone with twice the cojones you have."He raised his eyebrows. "You only have the data to validate half of that statement," he said, letting his legs fall apart and glancing downward. "But that could be corrected.”