"Yes, I’m here for the PSA on pedestrian safety? Vera sent me? … What? … A Creed video? … Welp, I’m here, so I guess fine, ok, whatever."
"Mother died today. Or maybe yesterday, I can’t be sure. Building fell on her. Long story. Anyhow, I’m forlorn, is my point."
"On my world it means SE7EN, now, apparently, for no goddamn reason."
"On my own/Pretending he’s beside meeeeee…."
"Seattle. Shit. I’m still only in Seattle."
"I’ve SEEN things you people wouldn’t beLIEVE. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I’ve watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. All those moments … will be lost … like … tears … in … rain."
[LIFTS UP WHITE DOVE, SNAPS ITS NECK]
"WHAT SHUT UP I HAD NO CHOICE!"
"ATTEND THE TALE OF SWEENEY ZOD"
The only proper attire for rolling up to the club.
Seconds ago I finished my second book, THE CAPED CRUSADE: THE RISE OF BATMAN AND THE TRIUMPH OF NERD CULTURE. Pub date: I dunno? Late 2015, probably?
Ended up splitting the last chapter in two, so it’s 10 chapters now. Haven’t done a word count yet. Scared to do so.
It’s due at Simon & Schuster on July 1, so I’ll go back over the early chapter to make them suck less. “Decrease the net suckage!” That’s my motto.
Then it’s on to the bibliography, which: crap.
The Flash #177, March 1968, cover by Ross Andru and Mike Esposito