“I don’t belong to a political party, because I don’t feel invited.”

“I don’t like dirt, because nothing is dirtier. Except politics.
”

“When I go to a restaurant and they say, “How many in your party?” and I say, “One,” I feel sad because one is not really a party. But me and my 32 clones don’t let that stop us from enjoying myselves.”

“Avery turned and smiled. “There’s a huge party tonight, and you’re invited. We’re celebrating New Year’s in style.”I looked down at my sling. “I don’t know. Navy-blue nylon isn’t exactly a trend.”

“So it’s your death suit.” “Correct. Don’t you have a death outfit?”“Yeah,” I said. “It’s a dress I bought for my fifteenth birthday party. But I don’t wear it on dates.”His eyes lit up. “We’re on a date?” he asked.I looked down, feeling bashful. “Don’t push it.”

“I don’t belong here. I know that. But I don’t belong anywhere else, either. And that is at the heart of the black depression pressing down on me, flattening me. I have no place. No home. Sex, but no real affection. I am kept, but not cherished.”