The city is a tipsy lady twisting her fingers through her hair, her bracelet the moon. When she rises, the streets sway in half-time, and I need to stop thinking about you, walking towards me in a crowd, your fingers twirling a pencil, your face, the moon rising and the streets sag around you and I can't stop thinking the city is drunk on your bare wrists, more lovely than the tendons of the moon. If you scroll, the building seems to move . . . ____________________________ Well, summer is officially here, and I'm not just talking about the solstice. School is ending and I have no idea how regularly I'll manage to blog over the summer. I'll still be working on Egregious and this week is actually a big week for this story. So if you've been following the story at all, hop on over to egregiousbook.blogspot.com . I'm not posting a teaser this week, I'll just leave you with the chapter's title: Death is a ...