My writing partner, Laura, not that I hate her, because I love her, but she's the type of happy mommy I want to wake up having sex with. I mean next to. She started her family young and has two kids: a little boy who's five — Levy — and a little girl who's three — Mina. Levy is a genius who knows the timetables better than I do, and Mina is a tanky little cherub who said, yesterday, “Mommy, Mommy, I did two poops so I get two chocolates. Because chocolates are for poops.” And you all know that the younger you have puppies, the younger you can start base jumping and henching models. (Actually, strike 'model henching,' I just remembered, my wife's reading. Too late? Alright, roll with it, we'll deal with it in post.)

Laura and I, we take care of each other. We hurt each other too, I don't know what we do more of. We just finished a story about a Mexican child prostitute, I was going to include some of it, but Laura said it was just a cop out and that I should follow the line of this story rather than filling it with superfluous writing. Well, she hasn't said it yet, but I know she will.