“Did we make love today, Slate?”“We fucked baby. That is what you and I do. We fuck. And today we did it damn well.”

“We make a baby, Sylvie, we do it making love. Not fucking on the kitchen floor.”

“May posterity show mercy when it look back upon the work we do today. We did what we could with what we had.”

“Guys won't admit it, but we're all obsessed with our biceps. I did three sets of ten reps, thirty-five pounds on each side. I knew I was pushing it, especially since we have practice this afternoon, but what the fuck. That was going to be my motto today. What the fuck.”

“What? Did we end up hating each other? Did we end up the way we thought we always knew would? Did I end up wearing khakis because of that fucking ad?”

“How do we come to choose what it is that we spend our days doing? Would we choose it again if we could? Did we choose it today, or has it simply carried us along somehow?”