"However.  I hated the French and their slippery tongue.  But I shrugged this away.  I had no real reason to hate the French and could barely remember why I did.  It had something to do with my grandfather and a prostitute during World War II and a mouthful of stolen gold teeth."

"And what the hell did I know.  Maybe she was bisexual.  Who wasn’t a little bisexual at the end of the day, alone with the black fingers of memory and silence?  The heart was a frail but curiously stubborn organ.  I knew that much."

"I’m a fool, of course.  But in the bright or anyway less shadowy regions of my heart I think I was hoping to come home and find a little peace. Which is funny, don’t you think.  Home is a word with such uneasy and fragile and ultimately menacing overtones that anyone else on the planet would have fucking known better."

"I could probably venture into a sex and disco scene tonight and sell it by the nickel to college kids.  But that would be too hideous and depressing for words and I would probably fuck it up anyway.  I would soon find myself distracted by some shiny little girl with manic blue eyes and plump, unrestrained tits and the cat would run away with the fiddle and I would start giving the coke away."

"Really, the worst thing about being alone was that there wasn’t anyone to turn to and say : hey, that was fucking weird, wasn’t it?"

This book was great.  Really great.  Noir and existentialism mixed.  Kind of.  A twisted love story. 

It was just good.  Even though I wasn’t ever entirely sure that I liked the idea of the Game, I liked the idea of losing yourself completely and battling the different aspects of self.

I really liked Phineas Poe as narrator. 

I wish I would have read KISS ME, JUDAS first, but I didn’t and haven’t been able to find either of his other books in my local bookstore.  Will, obviously, keep looking.

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