You call at 9 am on a Saturday, lucky I'm even awake. … Then expect me to pick you up at a gas station near a loony bin, that's sketch. I don't even want to ask what you're doing.

Subsequent albums of nonparty songs and metal-like ballads have not been nearly as successful, but 20-something truth-seekers are not made for stasis.

Despite being another installation in what has been coined the sick-lit genre (think Jodi Picoult's My Sister's Keeper) […]

We dined that day with the scrivano, and hired a house of Hassan Aga, one of our pledges, at seventy dollars the monsoon, or yearly rent, it being all the same.