My fingers itch, and the more I scratch the more it tickles. Tickle, itch, tickle, itch, this whole experience reminds me of being in love.

“My love disappeared, along with the evidence of her dead body.”

“Don’t tell me to write your story. Write your own story. If you won’t write it …”

“I love women’s breasts. I love how they don’t blink when I stare at them.”

“A brick could be wrapped in plastic and sold individually to toddlers as toys. …”