Suspense Funny Quotes

Rejection is an opportunity for your selection.

When would he learn that women never stayed where you put them?

What do you want, MacGuffin, a duel?” “No.” Julian held out both hands, one palm flat, the other held over it in a fist. “Rock, paper, scissors. Two out of three.” Ty rolled his eyes and held out his fist, apparently willing to play. Julian hit his palm three times, and Ty kept time with his fist in the air. But when Julian threw a paper, Ty reached into his jacket with his other hand and pulled his gun, aiming it at Julian. “Ty!” Zane said in exasperation from the front seat. “Glock, paper, scissors. I win.” “You are an ass,” Julian muttered.

Sophie, honey, stop looking at me like that,” Garrett said gruffly. “You’ll have me convinced I’m going to die.” “You’re not?

Hey,” Shayne said through the door. “You going to stay in there all night, because we’re getting tired of trying to eavesdrop from out here. Can’t hear a damn thing.

=> When life gives you a hundred reasons to cry, show life that you have a thousand reasons to smile. => Never tell your problems to anyone...20% don't care and the other 80% are glad you have them. => It's true that we don't know what we've got until we lose it, but it's also true that we don't know what we've been missing until it arrives.

When you sit that way, you look kind of like a beach ball with a head,” he continued. “Your haircut is really, really bad, I’m probably going to lose my job for helping you this way, and I’m dying to fuck you.” He glanced at her. “That honest enough for you?

He’d done it like he did everything else—with passion and total disregard for how much it might embarrass her.

He should probably make love to her.

Honest to God, she was the noisiest woman he'd ever been shot at with.

He needed to gather her up, hold on to her, anything to help her stop trembling. Something was going to shake loose if she didn’t.

Jake became excruciatingly aware of her, there, right behind him. The small grunts and groans as she placed each foot carefully on the slick ground reverberated in his gut. He wanted to turn around and tell her to shut the hell up. She sounded as though she was having sex. Good sex.

The man in 4B wondered if he could have your autograph. He told me his daughter is a huge fan.” Fan? What the hell? Dylan lifted himself up and looked over the back of his seat. Since when did covert operators have fans?

Their lips met in a slow, languid kiss. Salt from her tears mixed with her natural sweetness. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer. Her softness, her scent, she filled and overran his senses. He mouthed another kiss against her lips. Heat flared inside his abdomen when she opened her mouth, and kissed him back with firmer lips.  He sank into her embrace, the heated connection she offered. A kinetic warmth surged through him, lighting, igniting dormant pieces inside—like someone returning home . . . A soft groan, hushed breaths. Their mouths parted and found each other again. He slid his hand behind her neck as he deepened the kiss.

What are you? The pregnant MacGyver?” “Best compliment I’ve had in a while.

That’s the funny thing about guns; even untrained hands can feel powerful using them. But take that gun away and you’re left with nothing but a coward whose only skill is how to blindly pull a trigger.

Depression is not dramatic, but it is total. It’s sneaky - you almost don’t notice it at first. Like a cat burglar, it comes in through an open window while you’re sleeping. It takes little things at first; your appetite, your desire to return phone calls. Then it comes back for the big stuff, like your will to live. Then next thing you know, your legs are filled with sand. The thought of brushing your teeth fills you with dread, it seems like such an impossible task. Suddenly you’re living your life in black and white – nothing is bright, nothing is pretty anymore. Music sounds tinny and distant. Things you found funny seem dull and off-key.

What the hell was she doing on the nonhostage side of a handgun?

Brooke?" he finally found the sense to ask. "What are you doing here?" "I need a gun." This was not how his dream was supposed to go.

Something can be very funny and then suddenly very terrifying-very exciting, and suddenly very ridiculous. I think that’s what life is like, that’s what interests me.

Excuse me,” she said, her voice tight. “But if I’d known there was going to be a firearms examination at the end of the kidnapping, by God, I would have studied for it!

Oh for Christ sakes. Ay carrumba, chimichanga. I have no idea what you’re saying, but shut your pretty pie hole.

You’re gorgeous. You’re sexy. You’re … asking me to cut that dress off you? I’m praying for strength.

That’ll be like catching Niagara fucking Falls with a fly net.

If he sees you in this apartment he will seriously murder you and then break up with me.  And I really, really don’t want him to break up with me, Linc.” “But murdering me, that’s all good?

Robbie thought it was funny how his mind was able to remember the smallest details in a fraction of an instant. Like people covering their faces and saying, “OOOWWW!” in reaction to seeing blows delivered to his face, or some writing on the wall above the lockers that said, “SCHOOL SUCKS!” or the name Joey on a ring just before it crashed into his eye and everything went black.

SWAT? For me?" Still trembling, one hand clung to the ambulance gurney, the other held a massive sterilised cotton wool wad under my nose. "Tactical Support was busy. You got Dennis and Arlo," said Harry, speed-reading the papers he'd snatched from inside my jacket. Closest his hands had been to my chest in a long time. "Which one broke my nose?" "That'd be Dennis.

Liza took her time sipping her tea. “That’s what I hear Janet. Of course, living it up can take years off your life and add them to your face.

All he'd done was lose her underwear and practically get her blown up. Hell. This had to be the absolute worst first date of her life.

God, woman.” He closed his fist, not bothering to count off the dozens of other things she shouldn’t do. “You give me heartburn.” “No. Those are orgasms I give you, baby.

Sher just laughed, shaking her head in genuine bemusement. “Just think it through Ace. I’m sure the answer will come to you… eventually.” Jake sat there in silence, staring at the closed door to Sher’s bedroom. What had just happened here? Well, he’d just knocked back Sher’s invitation to have sex for starters. Oh my God, what had he just done?

Apparently, we're all in the frame," I heard Harry murmur somewhere behind me. And I whirled back to him. Innate, irrational anger surged. Then stopped, dead - as I suddenly took in Handsome, Robert and Doc. They were all staring at me. They were concentrating, all resolute, all a tad furrow-browed… upon my face. Self-consciousness burgeoned. I gingerly fingered my and lips and my chin, "Am I drooling?" "Your arse is hanging out," said Harry, not looking up from the forensics he was scanning. And so it was. Handsome, Robert and Doc averted their eyes as I, wishing I'd merely been dribbling, grabbed the back flaps of my breezy hospital gown, fully placed my back against the wall. Then, thinking better of it, dived hurriedly, carefully, back into bed. If Chinese Lady'd been here, she could've, would've, told me. I missed her already.

Blake dug a hand into our popcorn. Jayden leaned forward. “Aurora, perhaps you can reconcile our debate. Is Hitchcock horror or suspense?” “Suspense,” Tristan said. “Horror,” Logan countered. “You thought Sleepless in Seattle was horror,” Tristan said. “All that lovey-dovey stuff gave you nightmares.” “Sad but true,” Jayden confirmed.

Indignation is often the best defense.

Funny that when skies were clear, he was the storm. But in the middle of the storm…He was the calm.

Chocolate cake and a diamond ring? In bed with the man of my dreams?

She giggled. Giggled. Her cheeks pinked, and goddamn, if this plane didn’t get to the gate and un-board them, he was going to pull the emergency hatch.

Your booty call embargo will remain intact.

Oh, a grenade. But where is the bamboo bazooka?

My ex wants to come and rescue me.’ ‘Too late! I already rescued you. Who does this guy think he is?

Idecided to go to the town cemetery to think. Cemeteries had always been good places for me. They were quiet.

I clutched my pearls through this page-turning read that’s laugh-out-loud funny—she’s a ki-ki, darling! It’s equally heartbreaking, suspenseful, and always fast-paced. The category is: legendary.

It was the first time her eyes had really met mine and to be honest I think there was more warmth between the lamb chops in the freezer." Daniel meeting Felicity in Cousin Felicity and the Eels of Misty Point.

She wondered what he really saw when he looked at her. God, she hoped she didn’t look like his mother or anything. That would be veering into a Hitchcock shower scene that she really didn’t want to be the star of.

I plucked one plump black olive from the plate and put it in my mouth immediately before saying, “Well, I feel bad for you, then.” “Why’s that?” “Because I love antipasto.” “I guess I don’t understand why that’s a problem.” “Because,” I emphasized, cutting into a piece of salmon. “I don’t like to share.” I quickly slipped the smoked meat in my mouth before winking at him. His smile finally met his eyes again. “Good to know, because I’m not the sharing kind of guy either.” He winked back at me, but it was so blatantly comical that I couldn’t help the laugh that flew out of my mouth. “Something tells me you’re not talking about cured meats,” I said before slapping his hand away from my olives. “I knew you were smart.” I swallowed the olive I’d snatched from his hand and glared at him, while mouthing, “Mine.” “Funny, that’s what I was thinking, too,” he said, looking directly at me.

Dex leaned in. “Um, I’m pretty sure it’s your call, since you’re the one in charge—unless you want us to choose for you. How about Lady Sophie the Reluctant?” “Very funny,” Sophie told him as Biana covered her mouth to muffle her giggle. “I kinda like Foster the Great,” Dex went on, oblivious to her annoyance—or perhaps because of it. “But I still feel like we could do better. Hmmm. Wait! I’ve got it!” He paused for a beat, dragging out the suspense before he leaned in and whispered, “The Fos-Boss.” “Ohhhhh, I like it!” Biana breathed. “I vote for that too,” Wylie added as he leaned in. “Then it’s settled,” Dex decided. “Unless you think Lady Fos-Boss is better.” “Yes!” Biana said, fighting to hold back another giggle. “That’s the winner.” Sophie gave them each her deadliest glare. “If you call me either of those things, I swear I’ll—” “And she thought she was going to have a hard time bossing us around,” Dex whispered to Biana and Wylie. “Looks like our fearless Lady Fos-Boss is a natural leader.” This time even Wylie had to muffle his laughter. “You guys are worse than Keefe,” Sophie grumbled, wondering if she could smother them with her frilly gown.

Because I’m attracted to you. Because you’re the poster child for contradictions and I enjoy each one of them. You’re funny when you’re being so damn serious. You have a kind heart and protective nature that reminds me so much of my father.

Damn," he said. "Have you been stuffing yourself with desserts just to prolong the suspense?" She failed to note the humor in his tone. All she gathered from his remark was that he still didn't believe she was pregnant. "You've found me out at last," she snapped. "I'm merely giving birth to a pastry." "That's not funny,Becca." "Neither was your absurd remark. Do you really think I like that my body is going to be disfigured? I hate it, but not as much as I hate you!

ketchup sandwich. Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must’ve been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don’t let that fool you. You should’ve seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria. Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn’t do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death-by-in-school-suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip. ‘I’m going to kill her,’ I mumbled.

He looks up and up and up to get to her face. His mama's a tall lady, and he's only seven. He's overwhelmed by red. Red heels, red nails, red lips, red hair, red eyes. So help him, the boy has always thought his mama's copper-colored eyes damn near shined red. He looks into those eyes and knows she's come home funny.

I have been to the pits of hell, and I have seen what demons are capable of doing to the human body, mind, and soul. It’s funny how the wrong person will come into our lives and distract us from who we are; yet the right person will motivate us to move forward.

There’s nothing like curling up with a hot cup of coffee, a cozy blanket, and the most gruesome horror novel you can find.

What makes a joke a joke? What is the difference between the biggest, best, silliest, dumbest, dopiest joke ever and one that falls totally flat? First is the setup. Launch right into the joke. Make sure you know the whole thing backward and forward—there’s nothing quite as embarrassing as realizing you forgot the funny part. Next is timing. Comedic timing is a skill that takes lots and lots of practice to perfect. Don’t rush through your joke. Give your audience time to figure it out. But don’t wait too long or they’ll lose interest. Finally: the punch line. This is the last part of a joke—the part you’ve been building up to, whether you’ve been telling a long shaggy-dog joke (more on those later!) or a short-’n’-sweet riddle. It’s the funny part. Tell it loudly and firmly. Don’t laugh in the middle of it or you’ll ruin the suspense. Leave that up to your audience. The punch line should have an effect like its name—a punch of silliness, right to the funny bone.

Eat- Yō Sandwich (Lunch) It is a foot long; Ha- better than six inches, said Maddie. Karly- Suck on your meatballs… ‘You should know you’ve done both.’ Some girl down the table- said. Let’s talk about books, said Olivia. God just shot me in the head, so I can die, ha- hey see the sped? Nice- book’s- Maddie- ha! Karly- I think movies like Twilight freaking suck, (Throwing both middle fingers in the air making a skilling face.) The sporting actress made fame, what it is. Look at her and the look at that, what is- that, I love Anna Kendrick? Teach walking by saying that a mother-week Barns. Liv- I think she would have made a better Bella, than the girl with no personality, yet that’s the book I read that thing and it was painful. I guess that my assignment in life is over my Karly kiss my ass where it is brown and holy! And that another one, sure it is… Suck my clit. No! Yes, you want to! (Sexy eyes) That's it- you're expelled- Good now I can party and have some fun sleeping and not doing this crap, so you're going to punish me by not being here, freak yeah! The towing sickness of a teacher whose name is Mr. Abdèlaziz Okay smart-ie, in-school suspension, then right. Karly- Freaking-, ho-bag, psycho, b*tch, p*ssy-tart- cunt! Under her breath. (She gets taken out by her hair, by the officer what’s his name, roughly, I might add.) Like who paints a room all black, and faces the desks at the wall, where you could only piss two times… no air to speak of and some fat ass smelling like crap farting up and down the five by thirdly long skinny room, next to you is what… I got six out of seven freaking hours, all week I might add. ~*~ (Flashback) I love bands that are not cool so what do you do here? Freak yeah, at least I made it as one of our dumb ho’s… in a short skirt that shows nothing under it, to think I made it, wow good to think… you think I am good enough to be the same look, and size or whatever, yet you can’t say the N-word or a knotty little swore ward… Yet- yet- teachers can call me every name you can think of… in the urban book of crap, like I cannot even wear a tank… without a bra in the halls, yet, this girl can… do you see all the bouncing, and nipples pointing, at you, I sure do?

tread a funny, wiggly sort of line, Gabi, between turning a profit and continuing to build a business whose fundamental ethos doesn’t centre around money.

I had gone to sleep on a grassy patch and woke up in the morgue. Obviously, the city was sending me a message, and it wasn’t subtle. Leave. As an orphan, it wasn’t my first experience with being unwanted.

He said he could run me in for vagrancy. It was a crime to have no money. That was America for you. The cop, a nice guy, ended up giving me a few dollars and told me about a shelter. That was America for you, too.

She raised her pinky. I’d never seen anyone raise their pinky before. Maybe I was in the presence of royalty. But why the pinky? Some rules of etiquette seemed pretty random to me.

What crawled up your ass?" "That fucking murderous Barbie

But quite a few rules were made by someone hoping to use the rule to benefit themselves, and even a good rule could sometimes be applied in a bad way. Rules should be viewed with suspicion first and acceptance second.

Do you even know where we are?" She asked after the sky began to darken. "Yes." He grumbled; annoyed at her lack of faith in him as well as the fact that he wasn't so sure he did know where they were anymore. But he sure as hell didn’t want to admit it.

paces. ‘She can’t do that.’ ‘She can and she is. She’s renting a cottage. I don’t know how long for.’ She takes hold of my wrist and grips it so tightly that her nails pierce my skin. ‘I have to stop her.’ ‘Monica! You need to keep this in perspective!’ I extract my wrist from her fingers and shake her gently. ‘I know she brings back memories of your parents and I know that hurts, but now, in the present, you have nothing to fear from Orla.’ Her eyes say otherwise and as she looks into mine I see that she is close to telling me something. ‘What is it, Monica? What is it?’ My scalp tingles. ‘Is it about Rose?’ Her eyes glaze over. ‘I was warned about this. I was warned—’ ‘What are you talking about? Warned by whom?’ ‘Grace!’ she hisses. ‘Do you have any idea how much damage she could do?’ I give a short laugh, not because it’s funny but because I have to let some emotion out. ‘The status quo should never be underestimated. Life, ticking along. It might seem boring at times but . . .’ She looks up to the right and seems to pluck her words from the air. ‘Orla is dangerous. She will cause havoc and then she will leave. We have to stop her.’ ‘Believe me, I don’t want her around either.’ I take her hand. ‘Tell me what’s troubling you.’ ‘I can’t.’ She pulls free. ‘I can’t break a confidence.’ She takes a few steps backward. ‘Can you find out what Orla wants? Can you do that?’ I already have. ‘I’ll do my best.’ I try to look optimistic. ‘I’ll let you know.’ ‘Good.’ She recovers her composure and gives me an awkward hug. ‘I may not have been popular at school, my home life was in meltdown, but hey!’ She looks around her, takes

Gothic is the genre of fear. Our fascination with it is almost always revived during times of instability and panic. In the wake of the French Revolution, the Marquis de Sade described the rise of the genre as 'the inevitable product of the revolutionary shock with which the whole of Europe resounded,' and literary critics in the late eighteenth century mocked the work of early gothic writers Anne Radcliffe and Matthew Lewis by referring to it as 'the terrorist school' of writing. As Fred Botting writes in Gothic, his lucid introduction to the genre, it expresses our unresolved feelings about 'the nature of power, law, society, family and sexuality' and yet is extremely concerned with issues of social disintegration and collapse. It's preoccupied with all that is immoral, fantastic, suspenseful, and sensational and yet prone to promoting middle-class values. It's interested in transgression, but it's ultimately more interested in restitution; it alludes to the past yet is carefully attuned to the present; it's designed to evoke excessive emotion, yet it's thoroughly ambivalent; it's the product of revolution and upheaval, yet it endeavors to contain their forces; it's terrifying, but pretty funny. And, importantly, the gothic always reflects the anxieties of its age in an appropriate package, so that by the nineteenth century, familiar tropes representing external threats like crumbling castles, aristocratic villains, and pesky ghosts had been swallowed and interiorized. In the nineteenth century, gothic horrors were more concerned with madness, disease, moral depravity, and decay than with evil aristocrats and depraved monks. Darwin's theories, the changing roles of women in society, and ethical issues raised by advances in science and technology haunted the Victorian gothic, and the repression of these fears returned again and again in the form of guilt, anxiety, and despair. 'Doubles, alter egos, mirrors, and animated representations of the disturbing parts of human identity became the stock devices,' Botting writes, 'signifying the alienation of the human subject from the culture and language in which s/he is located.' In the transition from modernity to post-modernity, the very idea of culture as something stable and real is challenged, and so postmodern gothic freaks itself out by dismantling modernist grand narratives and playing games. In the twentieth century, 'Gothic [was] everywhere and nowhere,' and 'narrative forms and devices spill[ed] over from worlds of fantasy and fiction into real and social spheres.

I’ve heard horror stories of Old Masters wrapped in newspapers and arriving with ghastly copes of the funnies imprinted on a stately old forehead.

澳洲昆士兰大学假毕业证获得咨询【Q微202 661 4433】（昆士兰大学毕业证成绩单一模一样）如何购买UQ毕业证高仿成绩单，如何购买澳洲毕业证办理昆士兰大学毕业证|购买UQ毕业证|Q微2026614433|出售澳洲毕业证|购买澳洲文凭TheUniversityofQueensland SMNSNMSNMSNMSBSMNBSSMNBSSNMSBNSMBSMNSSMB Not that Americans need any more to fear and fret over, but one of their toughest, Dan Schilling, has written a book about awareness. Schilling is a 30-year, top secret, special ops combat controller, conducting clandestine missions all over the world. His book, The Power of Awareness, is a lively, often sarcastic and even funny guide to being awake to the possibilities, wherever you find yourself. It is fast paced, and actually, full of suspense.

Word spreads like wildfire in a town as small as Cedar Ridge, and by the time I make it to work, the streets of downtown are bustling with locals and tourists alike, all asking the same question. It’s sort of like being in the opening sequence of a Disney movie, but instead of singing about the funny girl who likes to read or the street rat who stole a loaf of bread, all of the colorful townspeople are wondering whether or not their neighbors have heard about the Bogman. And of course, everybody’s answer is “Yes.

It’s funny. I’d have thought a man like Daniel, successful and celebrated, would seem out of place in my small, simple world. But somehow, he fits right in.

You know, it's a funny word, loyalty. Loyalty to what? And why? ANF especially how, that's the kicker. It seems to me that loyalty requires a suspension of logic, of truth even. Like faith, like superstition, a thing you cling to in defiance of what lies before you in plain sight. On the other hand - like faith or superstition, like love itself - where's the comfort in our world without it.

That's when Josh got the feeling that he was watching himself, too, almost like he was a character in a movie. But it wasn't the right kind of movie, and he wondered about that. How do you get to be in the kind of movie you want to be in? Everyone else appeared to be in really awesome movies, full of camaraderie and laughter. Funny moments and ice cream cones. Adventure and suspense. Heroes! How could a person get into one of those?

So it’s settled then,” Agent Hahn said. Shannon looked over at him quickly. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, people listened. “Toliver and I are going to take a vacation in Texas. Cam’s taking comp time, too. Funny coincidence that we’re all together, isn’t it?

It’s funny. In my fantasies, I’ve cast Daniel as this romantic, heroic figure; my own personal knight in shining armor. When I daydream, I always imagine he’s the one saving me. But here in our silent sanctuary, I realize I want to be the one who rescues him. I want to protect him, comfort him, heal him... I want to love him.

Tesco at the best of times is soulless – but it’s so much worse at 6 in the morning. It’s not as empty as I thought it would be. Who the fuck shops at 6 a.m.? e florescent lights flicker. e shelf upon shelf of coloured cans make my eyes go funny. Everything is hard and shiny and there’s so much fucking choice. Why do I have to choose from thirty kinds of granola? Do I want Country Crunch or Rude Health? Raisins and almonds or tropical? Goji berries and chia seeds or Strawberry Surprise? I’ll just buy the Tesco range – that’ll be easiest. No, wait, there’s Tesco finest*, Tesco Everyday Value and Tesco Free From. What can be so damn fine about granola? You eat it everyday and what could it be free from? It hasn’t got anything unhealthy in it! What could one possibly take out? Actually, we don’t need any fucking granola.

Alex whispers, “There’s a thin line between love and hate. Maybe you’re confusing your emotions.” I scoot away from him. “I wouldn’t bet on it.” “I would.” Alex’s gaze turns toward the door to the classroom. Through the window, his friend is waving to him. They’re probably going to ditch class. Alex grabs his books and stands. Mrs. Peterson turns around. “Alex, sit down.” “I got to piss.” The teacher’s eyebrows furrow and her hand goes to her hip. “Watch your language. And the last time I checked, you don’t need your books in order to go to the restroom. Put them back on the lab table.” Alex’s lips are tight, but he places the books back on the table. “I told you no gang-related items in my class,” Mrs. Peterson says, staring at the bandanna he’s holding in front of him. She holds out her hand. “Hand it over.” He glances at the door, then faces Mrs. Peterson. “What if I refuse?” “Alex, don’t test me. Zero tolerance. You want a suspension?” She wiggles her fingers, signaling to hand the bandana over immediately or else. Scowling, he slowly places the bandana in her hand. Mrs. Peterson sucks in her breath when she snatches the bandanna from his fingers. I screech, “Ohmygod!” at the sight of the big stain on his crotch. The students, one by one, start laughing. Colin laughs the loudest. “Don’t sweat it, Fuentes. My great-grandma has the same problem. Nothing a diaper won’t fix.” Now that hits home because at the mention of adult diapers, I immediately think of my sister. Making fun of adults who can’t help themselves isn’t funny because Shelley is one of those people. Alex sports a big, cocky grin and says to Colin, “Your girlfriend couldn’t keep her hands out of my pants. She was showin’ me a whole new definition of hand warmers, compa.” This time he’s gone too far. I stand up, my stool scraping the floor. “You wish,” I say. Alex is about to say something to me when Mrs. Peterson yells, “Alex!” She clears her throat. “Go to the nurse and…fix yourself. Take your books, because afterward you’ll be seeing Dr. Aguirre. I’ll meet you in his office with your friends Colin and Brittany.” Alex swipes his books off the table and exits the classroom while I ease back onto my stool. While Mrs. Peterson is trying to calm the rest of the class, I think about my short-lived success in avoiding Carmen Sanchez. If she thinks I’m a threat to her relationship with Alex, the rumors that are sure to spread today could prove deadly.

I like the little stories, those like buttery English muffins with nooks and crannies, the cozy if suspenseful thrillers, taken with hot mugs of tea on a stormy evening. Not cute, but both relaxing and stimulating, funny and romantic, having variety without being haphazard.

Even though the cut was about twenty minutes longer than the ultimately released movie, Pulp Fiction was an even better movie than Reservoir Dogs. The structure was not only more audacious; the movie was funny as hell and had some extremely intense suspense sequences. Afterward, when Quentin asked me what I thought, remembering the Reservoir Dogs screening, I demurred and bit my tongue. I didn’t want to make a casual comment that might inadvertently influence this great movie. Even though a scene or two might have been tightened I just told him how much I loved it, which was true. As I was walking to my car I looked over and was surprised to find Dennis Hopper walking beside me. Usually I try to give celebrities their space and not bother them in public, but Hopper’s Easy Rider had made a huge impact on me at a very young age and it was hard to contain myself. I decided to keep it simple and just said, “I really loved Quentin’s film.” Hopper stopped in his tracks and suddenly it was like I was standing beside Francis Ford Coppola’s character the “photojournalist,” right out of his Apocalypse Now. Just him and me. “Yeah, man. Quentin really did it, man. I mean really. He really did it.” We both stood there in silent contemplation for a long moment, then wished each other good night and that was that.

He said, “Kevin Austin?” I told him the nuns in the orphanage gave me my birth city for a surname. He said he could run me in for vagrancy. It was a crime to have no money. That was America for you. The cop, a nice guy, ended up giving me a few dollars and told me about a shelter. That was America for you, too. I went to the shelter that night, but it was full.

It was like I was getting assignments from the universe. The voice wasn’t always just in dreams. Sometimes a crow would talk to me or a person who seemed in a trance. Once it was a statue of Abraham Lincoln. Some people might say they were from god but which one? There were thousands. I did think it was an older god, if it was a god. A new one would have texted.

thousand directions.