“Jordan followed, buttoning his jeans and muttering about how there was nothing strange about having a pattern of dancing penguins on your underwear.”

“This is your heritage,' he said, as if from this dance we could know about his own childhood, about the flavor and grit of tenement buildings in Spanish Harlem, and projects in Red Hook, and dance halls, and city parks, and about his own Paps, how he beat him, how he taught him to dance, as if we could hear Spanish in his movements, as if Puerto Rico was a man in a bathrobe, grabbing another beer from the fridge and raising it to drink, his head back, still dancing, still steeping and snapping perfectly in time.”

“I've been so worried about strange men following you around that I forgot how dangerous Homecoming Queens can be.”

“I am glad The Worst Journey is coming out in Penguins: after all it is largely about penguins.”

“Life isn't about how you survived the storm ... it's about how you danced in the rain. Dance with me.”

“I’m not sure about this.” “What? Your Buffy complex isn’t holding up?” Jordan chuckled. “Well, there is that.”