Van's sweater was soaked in blood.
Sack over my head and cinched it tight around my windpipe.
When you make a world tolerable for yourself, you make a world tolerable for others.
All the world's a cage.
Joy is prayer - Joy is strength - Joy is love - Joy is a net of love by which you can catch souls.
Dance is the hidden language of the soul.
I strained around against the crowd and saw Van looking with disgust at an older guy in a nice suit who was kind of smirking at her. She was digging in her purse and I knew what she was digging for.
I gathered we were headed over Nob Hill, and from the angle, it seemed we were taking one of the steeper routes.
What if this weren't a hypothetical question?