You can say anything you want, yessir, but it's the words that sing, they soar and descend. . . I bow to them. . . I love them, I cling to them, I run them down, I bite into them, I melt them down. . . I love words so much. . . The unexpected ones. . . The ones I wait for greedily or stalk until, suddenly, they drop.
When we got to the moron who was sitting in the only path to the stairway, Adam caught my waist and lifted me over before stepping over the man himself. “Scott?” Adam said as we headed upstairs. “Yeah?” “Unless someone shoots you, skins you, and throws the results on the floor, I don’t want to see you lying in the walkway again. ” “Yessir!