“Where's he starting?" he finally asked."In theater care. Where are you working?""Snack bar," he replied tersely."Please try to be civil," I begged him. "This is work. We need to be professional."He snorted. "Whatever, Cami." He shot me a wounded look. "I can imagine he'll love his new job. He's gonna get paid to follow you around through dark rooms. He's probably thrilled.”

“Ready?" Tove asked without looking at me. He started walking before I answered."Duncan, you don't need to come with us," I told him as I hurried after Tove. Duncan followed me the way he always did, but he slowed."It's probably best if he does," Tove said, tucking his hair behind his ears."Why?" I asked, but Duncan smiled, excited to be included."We need someone to test on," Tove replied matter-of-factly, and Duncan's smile instantly faded.”

“I see it on his face. I hear it when he talks. We look out at the world and we see the same thing: Not Fair. And the only difference between us is Ricky's out there trying to get even. And he knows not trust anybody and he got it straight from me. And he knows not to try and get work, and guess where he got that. He walks around like there's loose boards in the floor, and you know who laid that floor, I did.”

“Gauguin was a stockbroker in Paris, married, had five kids. One day he came home from work and told his wife he was leaving, that he was through supporting the family, that he had had enough. Just like that he fucking took off. He said he had always felt that he was a painter, so he moved to a rat-infested shithole and started painting. His wife begged him to come back, his bosses told him he was insane, he didn't care, he was following his heart. He left Paris, moved to Rouen, went from Rouen to Arles, from Arles to Tahiti. He was searching for peace, contentment, trying to fill that fucking hole he felt inside, and he believed he could fill it. He died in Tahiti, blind and crazy from syphilis, but he did it. He filled his fucking hole, made beautiful work, made beautiful, beautiful work... It takes a brave man to walk away, to care so much that he doesn't care about anything else, to be willing to obey what he feels inside, to be willing to suffer the consequences of living for himself. Every time I stand before his work it makes me cry, and I cry because I'm proud of him, and happy for him, and because I admire him.”

“But a man may then imagine in your work what he pleases, what you never meant!"Not what he pleases, but what he can.”

“Vegas?" I asked. His brow furrowed, unsure of where I was headed."Yeah?""Have you thought about going back?" His eyebrows shot up."I don't think that's a good idea for me.""What if we just went for a night?" He looked around the dark room, confused."A night?""Marry me," I said without hesitation. I was surprised at how quickly and easily the words came. His mouth spread into a broad smile."When?" I shrugged."We can book a flight tomorrow. It's spring break. I dont't have anything going on tomorrow, do you?""I'm callin' your bluff," he said, watching my reaction closely as he was connected. "I need two tickets to vegas, please. Tomorrow. Hmmmm...," he looked at me, waiting for me to change my mind. "Two days, round trip. Whatever you have.”