“--Tell them to drop their guns and fuck off out of my way.--Allow him to--I clamp my arm tight.--That's not what I said.She gets it right this time.--Drop your guns and fuck off out of his way.They drop their guns and fuck off out of my way.”

“She makes a stone-face, drops her voice an octave.-No. No. No. My name is Joe Pitt and I don't do nuthin' I don't want to do and I won't even listen because I don't know a good thing when I have it and I'd rather be all fucked up and tragic and go hurt people.”

“Don’t make me come out there and spray you, blanco.I point at my one eye.“Better have some sharpshooter fucking aim you want that shit to do any good.”

“Yeah, good to see you too.Her hand stays on the gun.“Did I say it was good to see you, Joe?“No, but I always try to read between the lines. Figured you going for your gun was how you express affection these days.”

“There something I can do to get this over with quick? Like, can I just run in front of a cab and take my lumps and we call it even? As opposed to you cutting off my nose and all, I mean.”

“The enforcer takes an envelope from his side jacket pocket and drops it in one of the scummy puddles.I look at Predo.“You rehearse that move in advance?He shrugs.“Actually, not. This one has initiative.”

“I feel like I'm forgetting something. Vyrus. Clans. Zombies. Stay out of the sun. Don't get shot. Abandon your life. Drink blood to survive. No, guess that pretty much covers it.”