“Hit one on the wrist and lay back on the bed. Warmth rushed up the back of his thighs and then his spine radiated his entire body with warm relief. A rose garden at dawn, wild strawberries and a girl… — James A. Newman Copy Share
“The alcohol danced down his throat like a contented snake on the way to a magic ball... The lights seemed suddenly brighter... He felt an immediate sense of danger... Electricity... Fear... Excitement... The glass left his lips he needed another. He needed ten, twenty, thirty more... He needed rivers, seas, oceans... He swore under his breath. Somewhere a woman laughed… — James A. Newman Copy Share
“JAMES HALE sat at a side-street noodle-stall. The stall was set-up underneath the shade of a row of fruit trees. He watched a pair of pigeons courting beneath a fig tree. The male’s tail feathers were pushed up in self-promotion and his plumage was arrogantly puffed up. He danced his elaborate dance of love. The female didn’t look impressed. She… — James A. Newman Copy Share
“Hit one on the wrist and lay back on the bed. Warmth rushed up the back of his thighs and then his spine radiated his entire body with warm relief. A rose garden at dawn, wild strawberries and a girl with freckles, her parents did something vaguely artistic and were on the elementary school committee. Years later the sun setting… — James A. Newman Copy Share
“Hale looked at the dead man. His baseball cap had fallen from what remained of his head. A head that was once bald beneath that baseball cap. That didn’t matter now. All that remained was meat. Hale guessed that’s all they ever were. Meat. Selfish and stupid animals. The trick was to be the one standing. Hale stepped over the… — James A. Newman Copy Share
“One day, The road came. The road brought with it beer and cigarettes. The road brought Coca-Cola and disposable razors. The road brought all… — James A. Newman Copy Share Image
“The only thing I know about books, is that they should be like a woman's dress: long enough to cover the subject and short… — James A. Newman Copy Share Image
“He searched her face for the hint of compassion. It wasn’t there. She had never written a word of fiction in her life. Why… — James A. Newman Copy Share Image
“From the small of her back, up to her shoulder blades, a delicate yet extravagant piece created, no doubt, by one of the monks… — James A. Newman Copy Share Image
“Like raindrops, beautiful women were every-where. Like raindrops, only a few ever landed on you. They would either soak into your constitution or drip… — James A. Newman Copy Share Image
