There’s the bloke that’s kill that feller, uncle belong you an me.

The medium was leaning with her elbow on the mantel piece, austere and aloof.

Most women who go to work go into nonastonishing jobs. So do men.

Of course—anyone would expect the rest to happen—I wake up in the Sea-Clift EMS track, strapped to a yellow Stryker stretcher, shirtless and jacketless, covered with a thin pink blanket, my feet toward the back door