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I only had one thing a female jail junkie would want: A bobby pin. Tiffany’s eyes widened with excitement and offered food.

Our love blossomed with the speed of a carefully edited, 30-second commercial for prescription diarrhea medicine.

Things got worse after I said my favorite R.E.M. song was “Shiny Happy People.” He got so angry that I thought his slim body was going to overheat.

I hadn’t worked a case in a month and was hitting the sauce hard. It’s a gloopy brown sauce from a can of beef chunks--part of yesterday’s breakfast.

I admit, I'd never met a non-Who before, and at the time I was a little nervous to have him in my inn. I locked the door to my room that night.

I hope I don't have to use the revolver, but this is Costco—godless territory where wild men purchase two-gallon tins of popcorn on any given day.

After beating that mutant horde, do you remember how we just couldn't go any further and decided to picnic atop the fallen corpses of our enemies?

“You see what you did?” Cap’n Crunch said, frowning at Tony, “You just had to roar. Whatever happened to civility in this country?”

Suddenly, I recall a woman—lovely, virile—a gal very active for her age. Did we meet in a bookstore? Or was it an antique shop?

“I served two tours in Afghanistan,” one woman said, “and I just thank God I never experienced anything like the horror you’re describing.”

“FIFTY PERCENT OFF ALL CDS” the dusty words said, in a manic scrawl. “EVERYTHING MUST GO!” Frankie backed away in horror. What was a CD?!

Skylark Diner sucks you in like a black hole and you can't even see the Texas-size soup dumplings over at Xiao Lone Star Bao.