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1 " No," he said, " look, it's very, very simple ... all I want ... is a cup of tea. You are going to make one for me. Keep quiet and listen." And he sat. He told the Nutri-Matic about India, he told it about China, he told it about Ceylon. He told it about broad leaves drying in the sun. He told it about silver teapots. He told it about summer afternoons on the lawn. He told it about putting in the milk before the tea so it wouldn't get scalded. He even told it (briefly) about the history of the East India Company." So that's it, is it?" said the Nutri-Matic when he had finished. " Yes," said Arthur, " that is what I want." " You want the taste of dried leaves in boiled water?" " Er, yes. With milk." " Squirted out of a cow?" " Well, in a manner of speaking I suppose ... "
2 " With the fading of the final notes the saxophone player turns to me. Its baleful, otherworldly gaze bores into my soul. It lowers its instrument to the disc and extends a podgy, grey hand to point at me. It looms closer, its head expanding, arm elongating. A clammy digit brushes the tip of my nose and a tingling numbness spreads over my face like an ice-cold spider web. A voice like the rustle of dried leaves whispers inside my head: “Forever…” The last syllable stretches, just like my grandfather’s dying breath. And the beady, black orbs are no longer eyes but deep, obsidian pits… "
― Scott Kaelen , Falling (The Forever Stranger)
3 " My first car was an '84 Ford Taurus. It caught on fire from me trying to change the fuel pump, so that wasn't good at all. Dried leaves on the ground while I was trying to change the fuel pump. Don't do that. Do it on concrete. "
