“He hands me his shopping list and I lead him through the store in search of the items. Duct tape? Plastic wrap? A hacksaw? Who is this guy, Dexter?”

“What's that sticky stuff called?Basta: Duct tape. Yes, duct tape. I love duct tape.”

“But just now, he'd gotten on his knees and proposed marriage, like in a television commercial for a diamond ring. Except of course they had the roll of duct tape instead, which, when you came to think about it, was a far more practical item. Such a bad mistake it would be, to embark on marriage and adult life without a nice supply of duct tape.”

“He took a long draw then asked, “What’d I do?”“You knew about the guy threatening my dad?”He paused, shifted in his chair, so freaking busted, it wasn’t funny. “They told you?”“Why, no, Swopes, they didn’t. Instead, they waited until the guy knocked the fuck out of my dad and readied him for spaceflight with duct tape then tried to kill me with a butcher’s knife.”

“I made plans out of hope, expectation, desire, and duct tape, and I broke those plans with my bare hands.”

“He handed me a spreadsheet of his own gear list -- everything extensively tested, accounted for and accurately weighed ... Chris' gear list resembled mine, at a base level. But there was a scientific certainty to his items, listed in precise terms and weighed down to fractions of an ounce."You weigh your chapstick?" I cried out. "Your chapstick?”