I often need physical gesture to balance dialogue. If I write in public, every time I need to know what a character is doing with his hand or foot, I can look up and study people and find compelling gestures that I can harvest. Writing in public gives you that access to a junkyard of details all around you.

The harsh truth is, most red-haired men look like blondes who‘ve spoiled from lack of refrigeration. They look like brown-haired men who’ve been composted out behind the barn. Yet that same pigmentation that on a man can resemble leaf mold or junkyard rust, a woman wears like a tiara of rubies.

History is a pathetic junkyard of broken treaties.

Going to a junkyard is a sobering experience. There you can see the ultimate destination of almost everything we desired.

I know it’s sappy, but I bet there’s a market for civility and niceness out there that, while probably not as titillating as a junkyard scrap between shirtless adversaries, it’d sure be healthier.

For ‘King Cole’s American Salvage,’ I rode around in the wrecker with a local driver and watched him deal with customers and hook up the cars. I watched the guy who tore apart the cars in the junkyard. I also wrote poems about those guys. I loved hanging around the yard.

The chance that higher life forms might have emerged through evolutionary processes is comparable with the chance that a tornado sweeping through a junk yard might assemble a Boeing 747 from the material therein.

She can’t help it,’ he said. ‘She’s got the soul of a poet and the emotional makeup of a junkyard dog.