“My god, Al, you're gray. Oh, no! You're going bald!” She laughed again, louder this time, and reached to grab what was left of my hair. I pulled back and grabbed her wrist. I let it go.

“OK. You're the CEO of a multinational corporation that buys politicians, hires foreign labor at slave wages and, worst of all, sells addictive poison to children..."

When practical I much prefer soaking in a bath than dashing in and out of a shower, which had been my only option in prison the previous six months.

I noticed the bright green beam of light linking the tabletop, where the cup had been, to one of the birds still hovering overhead.

Please trust me, this is no dîner avec André.

We both rose at once, filling the room again with the tangled intrusive sounds of aggravated steel springs and old wood.

Were Tink's arrogance helium the walls and ceiling of our little room would have blown outward, the gas then ripping the entire building from the ground, and lurching it into the stratosphere.