Now Reading ...

Mort drove one of those little hybrid cars that, when not running on gasoline, was fueled by idealism. It was made out of crepe paper and duct tape and boasted a computer system that looked like it could have run the NYSE and NORAD, with enough attention left over to play tic-tac-toe. Or possibly Global Thermonuclear War.

"Kinda glad I'm dead," I muttered, getting into the car by the simple expedient of stepping through the passenger's door as if it had been open. "If I were still breathing, I'd feel like I was taking my life into my hands here. This thing's an egg. And not one of those nice, safe, hard-boiled eggs. A crispy one."

"Says the guy who drove Herbie's trailer-park cousin around for more than ten years," Mort sniped back.

~Ghost Story, Jim Butcher

Oh, Harry Dresden ... I love you so. Even if you are sorta dead.