In case you haven’t read it (though they say Everyone has), Blase’s claim to literary fame is A Dark Night of the Soul: a slim sordid tale about the jaunty escapades of a thirty-eight-year-old New York fop who flushes his brain in toiletfuls of whiskey,[…].

I give you my word that there are no flies on his personal integrity, if that's what you mean.

Everything fed from the heat and chemistry oozing from hydrothermal vents.

He asked me if I knew the Wi-Fi password.