“My friends joke that I’m dead until I get onstage. I’m dead right now as you’re speaking to me.”

“He’s winning.Something stirs inside me. That means I’m losing.I hate losing.The game isn’t over until you’re dead.”

“If you’re lis­ten­ing to this, you know that I’m dead.”

“Nevertheless, here it is: my Hideous Admission. I’ll fess up and come clean. I’m out of the closet. I’m dead. Now don’t hold it against me.”

“You will die.” “I guess. I don’t know.” She shook her head, trying to pick through her feelings. “I used to think I was alive just because I kept getting away. If someone didn’t put a bullet in my head, I was winning. I was still breathing, right?” She looked at the blackened land around her, feeling tired and sad and alone. “But now I’m thinking it ain’t like that. Now I’m thinking that once you got enough dead looking over your shoulder, you’re dead anyway. Don’t matter if you’re still walking and talking, they weigh you down.”

“While the idea of taking you right now, against the wall, is enough to make me lose control, I want you to know that I’m serious. You’re not a hook up. You’re not a friend with benefits. You’re more than that to me.”I closed my eyes, breathing heavily. “Well, that was…really sort of perfect.”“I’m really sort of perfect … Everyone else knows that. You’re just a little slow on the uptake.”