“I'll talk to Mortimer and see what he thinks, and then get back to you tomorrow. In the meantime, you should really get to sleep and get those shared dreams going."Cale grimaced at the suggestion, and reminded him, "She has a splitting headache, Bricker.""I thought that was a married woman's complaint?" Bricker responded quickly, and then laughed at his own joke as he hung up.”

“This looks good.""That's Metamucil," Bricker said with disgust, snatching it from her hand."So?" She turned to scowl at him. "What's wrong with Metamucil?""It's--" He glanced at the container and read, "A dietary supplement.""That sounds healthy," she said, trying to grab it back."Eshe," he said, his disgust giving way to amusement. "It's what old mortals take to get regular.""To get regular what?" she asked, and then poked him in the stomach, hard. The moment Bricker bent over with an "oomph," she snatched the container back and repeated, "Regular what?""Crap," he gasped, clutching his stomach. "I didn't hit you that hard," she said with some disgust of her own."No." He sighed, straightening. "I meant that's what they get regulated. Crap."Eshe dropped the can in dismay. "They buy crap?”

“By midnight Theresa was yawning steadily, and Garrett suggested that she get some sleep."But I came down here to see you," she protested drowsily."But if you don't get your sleep, I'll look blurry.”

“I want to be like him. He's never hung-up, he goes every direction, he lets it all out, he knows time, he has nothing to do but rock back and forth. Man, he's the end! You see, if you go like him all the time you'll finally get it.”

“Get back on the bike and tell me where to go.""I'll tell you where to go," I muttered sourly, and he laughed.”

“All right. And if any of you get hurt I'm going to be really mad. I sleep with a Glock next to my bed so don't think I'm joking. I will shoot you if you don't make sure Gibson gets back here safely”