“I still remember my middle school locker combination. Maybe I should go back to my old locker to see if I left my innocence in there.”

“My stomach is my locker. Let me store your lunch for you. You’ll get it back, it’ll just be squishy, brown, and smelly.”

“I keep butter in my underwear, because it’s like a meat locker down there. Can I interest you in two rolls of bread?”

“I had an out-of-body experience so strange that it felt normal. You see, my soul, or essence, had left my body and went and inhabited the body of my clone. So I wasn’t in my body, and yet I was. Or maybe none of that happened, and I was just in a delirious, sleep-deprived state.”

“When I see a poor person I think of me, and then I think, maybe I should pay my clones for all the work they do for me. Then I think, nah, they’re only slaves. Through my clones, I am a slave to myself.”

“I remember in elementary school, Mother used to write my name on every single pair of my underwear. I guess she did that so none of my classmates would mistake my lunch for theirs.”

“I needed to take her to a concert, or maybe invite her out to go stencil street art in the middle of the night. Except I hadn’t done that since middle school. And I’m not exactly Banksy with a can of spray paint.”