Time was in short supply but forever loomed like the shadow of a shark just below the surface.

She chalked up her success to well-managed good luck.

In only a decade the city had managed to kill off the last of its seamier haunts.

Professor Blane, tired of facing the onslaught of trash culture, sat on the beach sipping a tropical drink and imagined himself playing a fiddle while Rome burned.

She left, but the devil stayed.

Too drunk to land a decent punch, Bobby didn't stand much of a chance of making it out of the bar in one piece.

Our world felt like a damsel in distress tied to train tracks by our own stupidity with no hope of a last-minute rescue by a glamorous hero.