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Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them. —Margaret Atwood
“Do airlines still worry about weight? Can they do that?”
“It’s vague. Weight must be proportional to height. But you really can’t do your job if you’re fat.
She was too depressed for the gym. Instead she went to a bookstore and browsed the shelves of paperback fiction, pausing in the aisles that held Chekhov and Pushkin and Tolstoy.
Negronis in Rome. Akvavit in Stockholm. Arak in Dubai. Her life was a drinking tour of the world.
“Do you know people cry on airplanes more than anywhere else?”
Or you’ve just had some meaningful experience. Movies and books will really get to you at thirty-five thousand feet.”
“It’s a terrible era when idiots are allowed to govern the blind,”
Good Lord, half of America was pretty sure their own president was a Russian puppet.
If you want to get the attention of the White House, kill children with sarin. Send it via a surface-to-surface missile or drop it from a MiG.
She sat against the headboard with the handgun beside her and watched an old sitcom about brilliant young physicists who were socially awkward. She was going to watch anything but the news.
August
Those little baby eyes would grow intense, then sated, and it was in those moments that Cassie could see in them Masha’s father, that enigmatic man who had loved Tolstoy and washed her hair ever so tenderly in a lavish hotel suite one night in Dubai.
