“If I shake your hand, will I get my fingerprints all over your fingertips? I hope not. Otherwise the crime scene, and the shaft of my penis, is riddled with my fingerprints.”

“I used his severed hand as a murder weapon. I hope I didn’t get my fingerprints on his fingerprints.”

“I won’t touch you,” I assured him, knowing I could throw a burst of energy that would undoubtedly drop the curtain on the moment. “I have it under control.”He traced the line of my clavicle with this finger and kissed the corners of my mouth. “Not even if I ask? I want your fingerprints all over me like a crime scene.”

“That night I wasn't reading your palm...I was monogramming my fingerprints on the sidewalks of your lifeline.”

“Then I’d throw my automatic down the elevator shaft-after I’d wiped off all the fingerprints and all. Then I’d crawl back up to my room and call up Jane and have her come over and bandage up my guts. I pictured her holding a cigarette for me to smoke while I was bleeding and all. The goddam movies. They can ruin you. I’m not kidding.”

“I always wear gloves, so at any moment I could commit a crime and not be worried about fingerprints. Plus, it saves on buying hand sanitizer.”