“You rented the apartment with a dead guy in the corner?” I shrugged. “I wanted the apartment, and I figured I could cover him up with a bookcase or something.”

“I want to be ripped apart by music. I want it to be something that feeds and replenishes, or that totally sucks the life out of you. I want to be dashed against the rocks.”

“And also...well...i told them I want to get an apartment with him next year rather than live in the dorms."What'd they say?"Over their dead bodies."What did you say?"I asked whether they wanted to be burie or cremated.”

“Frankly, I couldn't be more astonished that this guy was involved in something like this than if you came riding through my apartment on a hippopotamus.”

“Do you think I don't want him to be gone more than you do? I do. Because I need to know that I can still breathe properly when he's not around. If something happens to him, I have to know that I won't fall apart...”

“And I realized something I never had before. Deep down, I want to be seen as an object too. I want to be coveted and sought after. I want to be taken apart and understood, reassembled, filed away in Didier's cabinet. I don't even need to be pretty to have this. I only have to allow him to open me up.”