“And there was this sweet-looking little old lady with her white hair in a bun and everything, the typical grandmother type, and she was swearing her head off. I guess Alzheimer's had brought out her inner sailor.”

“I bet she woke up with her hair looking like something out of a Pantene commercial while little bluebirds circled around her head, and raccoons brought her breakfast or something.”

“Swearing, he fisted a hand in her short hair, yanked her head back and slanted his mouth over hers. She opened for him, humming with delight and Law was cursing himself even as he gorged on her taste. Fuck, she was sweet—hot, sweet, and perfect.”

“She didn't even finish her last sentence; it just trailed off. I think the subject had changed in her head while her mouth had continued on the old topic, not realizing it was out of supplies.”

“I used to be a good fighter." She looks out along the boxwoods, wipes off her sweat with her palm. "If you'd known me ten years ago..."She's got no goo on her face, her hair's not sprayed, her nightgown's like an old prairie dress. She takes a deep breath through her nose and I see it. I see the white-trash girl she was ten years ago. She was strong. She didn't take no shit from nobody.”

“She ripped the wild bun down from the crown of her head, and then brushed her long hair with her fingers. I couldn’t stop staring while she rewrapped it and tied it back again. I imagined that this was what she looked like in the morning, and then had to think about the first ten minutes of Saving Private Ryan to keep my dick from getting hard.”