Good Fiction Makes Me Turn

You Could Drown A Kitten In Her Blue Eyes.

If I Still Lived In Russia, I'd Be Dead... Or A Really Effective Oligarch.

Freedom Is Anathema To Dreams Nurtured In Captivity.

She Took My Hand And Pulled Me After Her, Her Shoulders Giving Off A Sweet Peppermint Concoction That The Bodies Of Young Women Sometimes Produce To Make My Life More Difficult.

Summer Is A Latvian Chicken. We Make Foolish Choices. We Think We’re Young Again. We Run With Outstretched Arms Toward An Object Of Love And It Pecks Us And Pecks Us Until We’re Standing There Snot-nosed And Teary In The Middle Of Astor Place And The Sun Sets Fire To Our Penguin Shirts And All That Is Left To Do Is Go To Our Air-conditioned Homes And Ponder The Cruelty Of Our Finest Season.