I loved every second of Catholic church. I loved the sickly sweet rotting-pomegranate smells of the incense. I loved the overwrought altar, the birdbath of holy water, the votive candles; I loved that there was a poor box, the stations of the cross rendered in stained glass on the windows.
“I mean, whatever kills you kills you, and your death is authentic no matter how you die.”
“Think it is just a matter of... well look how long it took Shawn Colvin to reach the level that she has. Believe me, that girl has done everything except stand behind the cash register at Tower and take the money.”