“I let out a sigh, hoping it releases some of the bad karma I just incurred from being so heinous. (Sean Griswold's Head)”

“He said focus. The word focus. I hear angels singing. Everything goes dark except for a light that beams down on Sean. It is a God-given sign- like when people see the Virgin Mary in their grilled cheese, except this isn't religious and I'm actually not a big fan of dairy. I stare at the back of his head. His HEAD. Something I see every day but never really see because it's been there forever. Since the first day of third grade.I crumple up my web. I don't need it. Praise be, the Focus Gods have spoken.I am going to write about Sean Griswold's Head.”

“We suffer from an incurable malady: Hope.”

“Travis sighed. “I just said that because,” he scratched his short hair nervously, “I don’t want to ruin anything, Pigeon. I wouldn’t even know how to go about being who you deserve. I was just trying to get it worked out in my head.”

“I hope you’re not contemplating retaliation against Mr. Figueroa.”She smiled again. “Don’t need to. Karma will take care of him.”“As long as Karma isn’t a hit man from New Delhi, we’re good.”

“Mace let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s bad enough we have the baby. Which I was accepting of because he’s mine.” “That’s real big of ya, hoss.”