“Did you just mentally pistol whip that guy, with his own gun? Nice, Amber. I would have just killed him.”

“Griffin: “Did you just fuck him into submission?” He held his knuckles up to me. “Nice.”

“I turn even more flustered when I remember that I have actually pistol-whipped him in the face before. Romantic.”

“All I want to shout is 'Moaty, it's Gazza!', and I guarantee me and him could sit and chat. I would say, 'Why don't you just put the gun away, throw it in the river? The police are not going to kill you.”

“Idiotic reply, June. Why don't you punch him in the face while you're at it. I turn even more flustered when I remember that I have actually pistol-whipped him in the face before. Romantic”

“I immediately felt better about killing him. I’ve never known a Trevor who wasn’t a total douchebag. It’s just one of those names that goes so nicely with selfish, arrogant, malicious behavior—and really, what did I know about this guy? Nothing, except that his name was Trevor and he’d been nabbed in the midst of breaking-and-entering. That was plenty.”