“Mom lived in 709. Five doors down from 714, the number they stamped on Quaaludes.”

“Here is the door of my mom's house, well-remembered childhood portal. Here is the yard, and a set of wires that runs from the house to a wooden pole, and some fat birds sitting together on the wires, five of them lined up like beads on an abacus.”

“I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed, or numbered! My life is my own....”

“Time remorselessly rambles down the corridors and streets of our lives. but it is not until autumn that most of us become aware that our tickets are stamped with a terminal destination.”

“I'll wire the International Federation of American Homing Pigeon Fanciers and give them the number stamped on the bird's leg ring.”

“I take four or five heavy steps beyond the front door and Mom comes rushing down the hallway. "Shane! What in the hell-" Now she sees me, in all my dignified glory. I tell her I'm fine. Swear I stuck up for my sister, not an alien but an angel. By the time I get to, "I think I might need stitches," Mom is my mommy. She may have forgotten my birthday. But today she remembers me.”