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by Joe R. Lansdale

I could see her navel. It was a nice navel. I’d have licked champagne or chocolate out of that navel. Fact was, I might have licked pond water out of it if that’s what she had in it.

“Let me tell you something else funny. I’m going to need the keys to the Cadillac.” “You son of a bitch. You come up here and try to steal my car, and then you steal my pussy, and now you want the car keys to just drive it off.” “Technically, I’m not stealing anything. Car or pussy. You don’t own the car, and the pussy came with a nightcap.” “Don’t be vulgar.”

Just follow the script, baby, and we’ll be farting nickels through silk pajamas.”

“Don’t tell me that.” “For a murderer, you’re awfully sensitive,” she said. “I guess I am.”