“Honey, if the man is that dense, you can drag that cot he been sleepin' on into your room, nab his clothes, and lay in wait for him. When he comes lookin' for his things, lock the door and settle the matter once and for all.”

“It was as if pain were a room he had entered and the door had been locked behind him.”

“...he followed you into the staff room and didn't come back for twenty minutes and when he did come back, he looked like he'd been mauled by a woman who'd been locked in an empty room without a vibrator, or a man for ten years"!”

“He rarely smoked, but once in a while, like now, when his world had been shaken, his woman nearly killed in front of his eyes, and he’d watched a house consume a man and spit him out, he figured a drag or two were appropriate.”

“But then you hear that he can't hear you, you see that he can't see you. You are not here - and you haven't died yet. You see yourself through his eyes, as The Generic Woman, the skirted symbol on the ladies' room door. When he says, "I love you, honey," you realize that he never call you by your name. You will say good-bye for all the right reasons. You're tired of living in wait for his apocalypse. You have your own fight on your hands, and though it's no bigger or noble than his, it will require all your energy. It's you who has to hold on to earth. You have to tighten your grip - which means letting go of him.”

“Then when dusk began to settle he would retrace his steps, back to his own world. And on the way home, a loneliness would always claim his heart. He could never quite get a grip on what it was. It just seemed that whatever lay waiting "out there" was all too vast, too overwhelming for him to possibly ever make a dent in.”