An excerpt from my book, I sadly have to cut out, due to the fact that it's completely arbitrary and irrelevant. But I'm quite fond of it, so I'm publishing it here. It must live somewhere!
The Avion Assassin carries a waterbottle and he can't be trusted. His steps are sharp like a hatchetblade, and his eyes, the gateway to his soul are thick as syrup, opaque, dark and deep. His head, a sculpture hurried to completion as if to meet a deadline, is curved and fine in parts with lumps left unsmoothed and mysterious. The waterbottle in his hand is half full before you meet him and half empty when he leaves you dead.
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