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

Her young lover changed positions, grabbed her and pulled her rear up high . . . went inside her at a brand-new angle, stroked and grunted. . . . Like he wanted to crawl inside her.

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.

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.