Still Life With Woodpecker, p.65

"I love the self-conscious romanticism of the outlaw. I love the black wardrobe of the outlaw. I love the fey smile of the outlaw. I love the tequila of the outlaw and the beans of the outlaw. I love the way respectable men sneer and say 'outlaw.' I love the way young women palpitate and say 'outlaw.' The outlaw boat sails against the flow, and I love it. Outlaws toiler where badgers toilet, and I love it. All outlaws are photogenic, and I love that. 'When freedom is outlawed, only outlaws will be free': that's a graffito seen in Anacortes, and I love that. There are outlaw maps that lead to outlaw treasures, and I love those maps especially. Unwilling to wait for mankind to improve, the outlaw lives as if that day were here, and I love that most of all."


I'm not an outlaw, I don't ever intend to be, but that's a beautiful chunk of book.

I want to forever remember the wind tonight. Its perfect temperature, perfect noise, perfect arrival. As I walked home, it filled the spaces between my arms and my ribs and made a home in the fibers of my shirt. I was carried down the street like a feather- light, careless, and free.