More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
The Black Tide could kiss my tiny black ass.
“Fuck,” said Dee. I gasped. I have no idea where she learned that sort of language.
In the time of MoFos, an Uber ride was when a driving MoFo picked you up in his Prius while blasting a Cigarettes After Sex album, and you proceeded to get in a highly inebriated argument with him about whether crows are allowed in his back seat right before you barfed on it.
Lmao
“Oomingmak!” screamed Dee, hysterical.
:(
She bellowed back at Oomingmak, a primal scream of undying love. Oomingmak lifted his great horns and called to his Dee. The fire laughed, dancing nimbly behind him. Night spilled its unforgiving ink. The moon mourned in orange. Oomingmak could not swim.
Crying
Grief can slam into you like a well-waxed window. But it means the ones you love aren’t lost or forgotten. They’ve made a home in your heart, which is the most permanent place of all.
The male elephant lowered his great head toward me. “You have protected her all this time.” “Since she was a hatchling,” I told him. “She’s the very last.” “I remember. I remember you and your friend.” Dennis. “He is very proud of you.” If a crow could cry, I would have; I’m man enough to admit it.
:')
MoFos were also sometimes polygynous, but most tended to have just one wife, which they called monotony.
“How dare you test her! She is the most magnificent and dignified creature you will ever lay your eyes on!” We both turned our black beaks to Dee, who was peeing all over the floor.
Hell yea Dee
When you love someone with your soul, they never really leave you; they are hemmed into your heart.
Side to side, colossal hoof to hoof, were millions and billions and gazillions of tons of musk oxen. And at the helm of this horizon-wide cloven force was an enormous brute of an ox with a heart the size of Alaska. Oomingmak.
I'm crying
