“Sometimes I feel like I’m living in my father’s shadow. But then he takes a few steps, or bends down to stretch his back, and I get to enjoy the sunlight for a few moments.”

“I’m 30-years-old, and I still can’t get out from under my father’s shadow. He’s really tall, so maybe I’ll just ask him to move over a few feet.”

“A whisper is the shadow of a shout, and I keep a few in my wallet to use at the strip club on rainy nights.”

“My shadow’s so substantial that it has its own shadow. It isn’t as tall, but that’s OK, because sometimes it feels like I’m being followed by a black midget.”

“The final few weeks in a town before you move always feel like vacation, like you’re observing and taking it all in, seeing with fresh eyes. I’m moving back to Orafouraville. A college degree is so worthless that it is invaluable. When everybody has one, they are cheap—except if you don’t have one, and then they are priceless.”

“I would rather save a few seconds than a few cents. I hope you don’t mind, but I’m saving them in your sofa cushions.”

“I stand six feet back when meeting new people. And before they can step to me and extend their arm for a handshake, I drop down like I’m doing pushups, and extend my right hand. It’s friendly, but it lets them know I’m into boundaries. And unless they’re a cartographer, they have to be made aware of this fact.”