She had yet to actually call him by his real name. The psychologist in him had all kinds of theories as to why. The man in him wanted to hear her say it. Just once.

This was sharing office space with wacko and bordering on ludicrous.

Orgasms are a myth. Like good credit scores.

What exactly do you think is going to happen to me in Redwood Ridge? A Halloween display falling on me? Blown over by the force of someone waving hello? No, no, I got it. I’ll get diabetes after I’m forced to eat a cookie from the free sample display by the bakery. I hear sugar calling to me now. Dangerous stuff.

How much dip would a dipshit shit if a dipshit could shit dip?

I’m not crazy.”“Said every loony that ever lived.

He would’ve sworn the woman was a reincarnation of Holly Golightly, but this wasn’t a Capote novel, no matter her resemblance to Hepburn.

This is turning into an alcohol-will-cure-everything kind of day.

The first sign that Karma was now in cahoots with the Devil Incarnate to ruin her existance should've been before sunrise and pre-coffee.