Kindle Notes & Highlights
It was quick as heat lightning, wicked and unpredicted—odd, I say, as ninety nights on Mercury.
at least four times more sparkly than a poet’s idea of nighttime;
her legs, which were long as hope itself;
To that jury that sits ever more in my brain—and to the one in your very own—I would say that Heath Howell was but a bystander, no smarter about this than is a dog about democracy.
before I let myself go and waited to see her slip over her own crumbly cliff,
nothing was happening between my head and my hoof but wind and fire and thudding organs.
hers a voice with as much rue in it as there is in mine when I tell a debtor the goddamn end is nigh.
Yancy Derringer
“About as exciting as Velveeta cheese.”
She laughed, sharp as gunfire.
heard my blood then, buzzy as a box of bees, and waited for my arm or hand or leg to act in some significant way.
It was going into a room and knowing you had a surprise to find—a bomb, a flying saucer, Old King Cole with his fiddlers three. It was being blindfolded and turned a hundred times about, our desert a new vista to behold when it stopped spinning.
was a pulse, loud as an ooomm-pah from a Sousa march, and the shriek time makes when you are yanked from it. Hell, yes, it was the sex—what Lizzie’s preacher, the Reverend Oram Tinsley, M.Div., once called the den and lair and roost of us. And for nearly two months it was more of everything than you’re supposed to have in this vale. More of more.
Yes, I was paying attention—to the gravel and grain of us, the string and the spit, the mud and melt we are.
bankbooks as thick as the Yellow Pages and hair white as storybook Christmas snow.
