I'm A Dogged Person. I Respond To

Nineteen Eighty Is Almost Here, Thank God. The Hippies Are Getting Old, They Blew Their Brains On Acid And Now They're Begging On Street Corners All Over San Francisco. Their Hair Is Tangled And Their Bare Feet Are Thick And Gray As Shoes. We're Sick Of Them.

What I Suddenly Understand My Job Is To Make People Uncomfortable. + I Will Do It All My Life. ---> My Mother, Sasha Blake, Is My First Victim.

And Alex Understood That Scotty Hausmann Did Not Exist. He Was A Word Casing In Human Form: A Shell Whose Essence Has Vanished.

She Was Clean": No Piercings, Tattoos, Or Scarifications. All The Kids Were Now. And Who Could Blame Them, Alex Thought, After Watching Three Generations Of Flaccid Tattoos Droop Like Moth-eaten Upholstery Over Poorly Stuffed Biceps And Saggy Asses?

Being Somewhere But Not Completely: That Was Home For Danny. . . . All He Needed Was A Cellphone Or I-access, Or Both At Once, Or Even Just A Plan To Leave Wherever He Was And Go Someplace Else Really Really Soon.