After three hundred miles of musicians and endless tequila shots, the tour bus driver had never been more eager to dump us in the middle of another small, sober town.

The post-traumatic shock from living in Florida never goes away, yet part of me is forever attached to that eccentric, heat-infested swamp.

I have never been the fiddle-dee-dee, carefree Scarlett O’Hara his fantasies imagined. I’m more of the Civil War version—tired, hard, and determined.

In the apocalyptic environment that is Los Angeles on fire, we should all be making a point to have a lot of sex, but no one seems particularly motivated. They need leaders, and sadly I am not up for the task.

There is no question that Los Angeles expects its long-termers to survive the inevitable and chronic ass-kickings alone.

I have always been quite good at falling in love, but I don’t pretend to know anything about literal happily ever afters.

My heart had a crush on him from the moment we met, but it was faint, and the rest of me stubbornly refused to play along.

I had to free myself from my devotion to him... to us... without losing my ability to believe in love.

The word bollocks seems strong, punk rock, and imposing, but in reality, bollocks is always too tame to make much of an impact.

Since Ireland’s independence declaration was a century older, I could not be sure if his self-evident truths meant as much as they would in America.