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I wanted something noir for my study, you know, something inspiring for my Taggert Series. So I went shopping for a dingus. Couldn't find one on my own so I asked this pert salesclerk if she could help me find my dingus. She slapped me and called the store manager.

The boys down at the 3rd Precinct never heard of a dingus. So I said it had to do with being a private dick.

They transferred me over to the Sex Crimes unit.

I'm thinking there's a communications gap between generations. I'm going...

Life has taught me you never know for sure where you're going and you often don't know when you get there anyway. But if you focus too much on reaching the end of the trail and ignore the path you're on you stand a good chance of getting caught in the brambles.

Writing a novel is like that.