Sublime

I miss and love with all my purple fist a strange girl from a flamboyant and frightening family, in many ways a flamboyant and frightening girl, perched high in the crow’s nest of the Frequent and Vigorous vessel, scanning gray electrical expanses for the lonely spout of a legitimate telephone call.

(If you want to study the master of the well-constructed chapter—and plot and flat-out gorgeous writing—read Raymond Chandler. The Long Goodbye is my favorite.)

unmoored,

“It takes a long time to drive to … the Bu.”

Eliot Rosewater.

Holly

“Yes, son?” “On a scale of one to tail-baby-cousins, where would you put Jasper and Sloane?” “Oh my god.” Sloane collapses onto the counter, holding the phone over her head, shaking it like I should take it from her. “Like a five, probably.”