Like A Church Bell, A Coffin, And

It Was Darker Than A Pitch-black Panther, Covered In Tar, Eating Black Licorice At The Very Bottom Of The Deepest Part Of The Black Sea.

A Bolt From The Blue.

Love Is Candy From A Stranger, But It's Candy You've Had Before And It Probably Won't Kill You.

It Turns Out She Is Canadian, My Editor, And So She Drinks Like A Fish. So She Wasn't A Lightweight At All. And In The Morning, She Said That The Idea Still Seemed Like A Good One, And Here We Are.

For Beatrice, Summer Without You Is As Cold As Winter. Winter Without You, Is Even Colder.