Phoenix Maplewood i've a notion that poetry is the highest form of self-deception

"My condolences," Zamael sneered, rolling his eyes. Really, so sad this guy was born in a king's bed and managed to shit in it. Very impressive. With little scenes like this, no wonder the dude had fucked up his life. All of these thoughts rolled through his head, but Zamael kept quiet, staring down at the man as he pondered the question thrown at him.

"What's my deal?" he asked, a little incredulous. "I'm not at rock bottom any more; if I was, I wouldn't have asked after your welfare. Who the fuck are you, anyway?" He was certain he had never seen this mongrel before, or perhaps he had just blended into the scenery, drab as he was. Zamael canted his head, fixing the man with a gimlet stare.