Hope Is Bulletproof, Truth Just Hard To

San Francisco Is A Breathtakingly Beautiful City, With Lots Of Great Contrasts Between Dark And Light, Often Overlapping Each Other. It's A Great Setting For A Horror Story.

The Winter Woman Is As Wild As A Blizzard, As Fresh As New Snow. While Some See Her As Cold, She Has A Fiery Heart Under That Ice-queen Exterior. She Likes The Stark Simplicity Of Japanese Art And The Daring Complexity Of Russian Literature. She Prefers Sharp To Flowing Lines, Brooding To Pouting, And Rock And Roll To Country And Western. Her Drink Is Vodka, Her Car Is German, Her Analgesic Is Advil. The Winter Woman Likes Her Men Weak And Her Coffee Strong. She Is Prone To Anemia, Hysteria, And Suicide.

This Is The Man Who Called The Fire Department When The Toilet Backed Up, And I'm Asking Him For Help. What Was I Thinking? Why Am I Attracted To Weak Men?

He Was A Writer And Words Were His Weapons.

She Knew It Should Bother Her More, Being Evil And All, But After She Put On A Little Mascara And Some Lipstick And Poured Herself Another Cup Of Blood-laced Coffee, She Found That She Was Okay With It.