“...skeins of mist like translucent silk, bending and unbending in the headlight tunnels...”
“My scars were reflecting the mist in your headlights I looked like a neon zebra, shaking rain off her stripes”
“The blond stuffs her hairbrush, which is now spun with gold and black silk (a miniature angel's nest) back into her backpack next to her anthology of English literature. The pages are so thin, they're like dead girls' dreams, translucent skin. On them it seems that everything that has ever been thought has been written.”
“And telling a story, I suppose, is like winding a skein of spun yarn- you sometimes lose track of the beginning.”
“Best of all she liked his eyes, such a translucent golden brown, and so laughing.”
“I was pretty sure I knew what I looked like: a cartoon hamster in the headlights.”