Tired, But Not The Kind Of Tired

There Is Nothing About A Bad Situation That Fourteen Hyper Cheerleaders Can't Worsen.

This Pool Is A Triumph Of Imagination. That's How You Win At Life, Gin. You Have To Imagine Your Way Through. Never Say Something Can't Be Done. There's Always A Solution, Even If It's Weird.

She Was Standing In The Airport Of Copenhagen, Staring At A Doorway, Trying To Figure Out If It Was (a) A Bathroom And (b) What Kind Of Bathroom It Was. The Door Merely Said H. Was She An H? Was H "hers"? It Could Just As Easily Be "his". Or "helicopter Room: Not A Bathroom At All

She's Gone. Been Gone For Ages. They Split Up Right After You Left. That's Why The Grass Out Front Started Growing Again." "he's Got A New Girlfriend?" She Said Quietly. "thank God. You Must Be Happy." "yeah. He Does. It's A Relief. She's A Lot Nicer. But Then, Your Average Angry Snake Is Nicer Than Fiona. I'm Sure She's Happier Wherever She Is Now, Burning Orphans Or Whatever She Does With Her Time.

I Could Envision It All To Clearly: Stuart Or Debbie Finding The Dented Door Off Its Hinges, Lying In The Snow. "she Came In, Ravaged The Boy, Stole Plastic Bags, And Ripped Off The Door In Her Escape," The Police Would Say In The Apb. "probably Making Her Way To Bust Her Parents Out Of Jail.