"You could be the nicest bloke in the world," he quoted ruefully. His knees rose, punctuating the fabric that encased him so completely -- that buried him alive. His journal still lay against him, safe and secure in his lap beneath the sheets. He felt the words itching at him -- begging to be devoured and forgotten in the bliss gone wrong within his veins.
"But nice always comes at a cost. And it's always more than the price of a sleepless night." Hardball truths dealt out of back-alley pockets.