“I'm fighting the shock of having a guest in my room. I almost kick her out because it's going to hurt too much when my room is empty again.”
“I've given up my living room, guest room, job, career, heterosexuality and my stance on no pets in the house, but I'm not giving up my room. I'm drawing a line.”
“My room is so quiet and empty it hurts.”
“No guest rooms.” I shake my head resolutely. “I want to be in a room room. A lived-in room.”
“I went to the guest room and pretended to write. I hit the space bar again and again and again. My life story was spaces.”
“Hunger gnawed at her empty stomach again and she said aloud: 'As God is my witness, and God is my witness, the Yankees aren't going to lick me. I'm going to live through this, and when it's over, I'm never going to be hungry again. No, nor any of my folks. If I have to steal or kill - as God is my witness, I'm never going to be hungry again.”