Here are some quotes and short excerpts from my novel The Falling Circle, a story about being down and out and punk AF in the big city. Available on Amazon.com

   “Didja’ buy any crack on th’ way to work?” asked Zack.
   “Yeah, but I smoked it all up before I got here.”
   “Damn. I need some o’ that crack.”

   “So your landlord went nuts?” asked Thea, as Preston took aim with his club.
   “He was already nuts. He just went extra nuts.”
   He reared his club back and smacked the ball. It shot straight across the warehouse like a bullet and clanged against a tractor. It traveled about two stories below his intended girder.
   “It takes practice,” said Thea.
   “This martini isn’t helping.”
   “Helping what?”
   “My swing. I didn’t mean to say it wasn’t helping me.”

   “Have you ever wondered about the term fuck you?” said Preston.
   “Fuck who?” asked Jason.
   “Fuck you?” replied Retch.
   “Fuck me? No, fuck you.”
   “Fuckin’ a.”
   “No, seriously,” continued Preston. “I mean, what does it literally mean? I mean, you got a verb, ‘fuck’, which is a swear word that means sexual intercourse, and then you have a second person singular object ‘you’.”
   “What th’ fuck are you talkin’ about?” winced Skor.
   “What does it mean literally? Everyone knows ‘fuck you’ is supposed to be a really foul insult, but it really doesn’t mean anything when you look at it literally.”

   As he cautiously tip-toed through the bodies he noticed that one punk, who had fallen asleep without a shirt on, had been written on, all over his arms and upper torso with some black markers. No doubt his friends did it for him when he had passed out. There were quips and phrases on his arms, chest, and forehead. Preston stopped long enough to read some of the scribblings. “I am a fucking poseur.” “Take me home to mommy.” “I suck dick for crack.”

   “Saber’s your boyfriend?”
   “Yeah. We share the same room.”
   “Okay.” Preston was still trying to take it in.
   “What?”
   “Well, it’s just that I thought you’d be going out with someone who…”
   “Wasn’t so flamboyant?”
   “Yeah, someone who wasn’t such a freak.”
   “So you think Saber’s a freak?”
   “It didn’t take too long to figure that out. I know he’s a freak.”
   “Well, okay. That’s true.”

   “Does your penis ever talk to you?”
   “No, but it does a lot a’ thinkin’. Why?”
   “Just curious.”
   “Does your vagina ever talk to you?”
   “Not that I know of, but my friend Tim says that it does.”
   “Does what?”
   “Tim says my vagina talks to him. He says it calls out to him when I walk by. ‘Tim, Tim.’”

   “Saber? You actually call yourself Saber?”
   “That’s my name. Please wear it out. Tell everyone about me!”

   “So what’s Tam doing?” asked Saber.
   “She’s spending the day with clients.”
   “Oh yeah, flogging for dollars. I used to do that.”

   “Hey, check this out.”
   Preston turned around to see a grinning Tam holding up a pair of freshly washed crotchless leopardskin panties.
   “Hey, what are you doing with my underwear?” asked Preston.
   “I’ll only give it back if you model it for me,” said Tam, as she held the panties in the air with two fingers.
   “You couldn’t afford it.”
   “That’s what you think!”

   Thea turned and shot a look at Preston. “You haven’t slept with her, have you?”
   “Hey, how do you think I pay my rent?” smiled Preston.
   Thea waved a threatening brush at him. “You better be kidding, because if you got the chance to boff that amazing sex goddess…”
   “What?”
   “I’d have to rip your balls off in a fit of envious rage!”

   He felt bad for Miss Griffith. She seemed like the kind of person who would be frightened by a Clash t-shirt, let alone a Skinny Puppy album cover.

   “So,” said Gust, “Are ya’ gonna kick my ass?”
   “I dunno. It almost sounds like ya’ want me to.”
   “Well hell, somebody’s gotta do it, and Tam ain’t here.”
   “Ask Saber to kick your ass.”
   “That fuckin’ wimp couldn’t beat up my little sister.”