I was sprawled out in my usual position on the couch, half asleep but entirely drunk, torturing myself by tearing memories out of my mind at random like matches from a book, striking them one at a time and drowsily setting myself on fire.

Pity, I've learned, is like a fart. You can tolerate your own, but you simply can't stand anyone else's.

The tears come to my eyes so fast, there's just no way to stop them.

She got on a plane to see a client in California and somewhere over Colorado, the pilot somehow missed the sky.