The Us Dollar Is Our Currency But

David's Mother Would Often Tell Him Stories Were Alive. They Weren't Alive In The Way People Were Alive,or Even Dogs Or Cats. People Were Alive Whether You Chose To Notice Them Or Not, While Dogs Tended To Make You Notice Them If They Decided That You Weren't Paying Enough Attention. Cats, Meanwhile, Were Very Good At Pretending People Didn't Exist At All When It Suited Them.

The Detective Was Different. Not That He Wasn't A Good Man; Willie Had Heard Enough About Him To Understand That He Was The Kind Who Didn't Like To Turn Away From Another's Pain, The Kind Who Couldn't Put A Pillow Over His Ears To Drown Out The Cries Of Strangers. Those Scars He Had Were Badges Of Courage, And Willie Knew That There Were Others Hidden Beneath His Clothes, And Still More Deep Inside, Right Beneath The Skin And Down To The Soul. No, It Was Just That Whatever Goodness Was There Coexisted With Rage And Grief And Loss.

On More Than One Occasion David, In His Urge To Explore The Darker Corners Of The Bookshelves, Had Found Himself Wearing Strands Of Spider Silk In His Face And Hair, Causing The Web's Creator To Scuttle Into A Corner And Crouch Balefully, Lost In Thoughts Of Arachnoid Revenge.

Being Scared Isn't The Problem. It's Not Running Away That's The Hard Part.

There Are People Whose Eyes You Must Avoid, Whose Attention You Must Not Draw To Yourself. They Are Strange, Parasitic Creatures, Lost Souls Seeking To Stretch Across The Abyss And Make Fatal Contact With The Warm, Constant Flow Of Humanity. They Live In Pain, And Exist Only To Visit That Pain On Others. A Random Glance, The Momentary Lingering Of A Look, Is Enough To Give Them The Excuse That They Seek. Sometimes, It Is Better To Keep Your Eyes On The Gutter For The Fear That, By Looking Up, You Might Catch A Glimpse Of Them, Black Shapes Against The Sun, And Be Blinded Forever.