Some crazy man came up to me and started screaming at me about how he hated Allah, and before I could tell him that my family was part of the Catholic Church in India, he knifed me.

All I wanted was you. I tore down my wall for you. Now it's been rebuilt.

Your lies are like a silent fart. Can't see 'em, but
I can smell 'em.

Can I buy you a drink when you get off?"

"I don't drink. Alcohol is bad for my legs."

"Do they swell?"

"No, they spread.

I'm just trying to write a good story, strictly from imagination. People just think it's random, they don't see the rewriting, phrasing of characters, choosing the words, bringing the world to light in which the characters live in. That creates an illusion that this is real.

Some people are just so happy to get published to, they sign anything. Next thing you know, they've signed over the rights to their book.