“The critic said, but don't you feel awkward about biting the hand that feeds you? I said no, I enjoy just gnawing it up to the shoulder.”

“Don't leave a message," his voicemail said. "If you do, I might call you back. We could end up communicating, and that would be awkward.”

“You deserve to die," I whisper, suddenly realizing Iv'e said the words aloud."Excuse me?" "Nothing.""Not nothing. You just told me that I deserve to be maggot feed.""Not maggot feed, just-""Dead!""Forget it" "I don't know why I said that. Just daydreaming, I guess.""Daydreaming about my death?""Forget it", I repeat."Are you sure you aren't still mad that I wouldn't let you borrow my vintage fishnet leggings?""More like I didn't want to borrow them,”

“I can't believe I said it out loud. The truth doesn't set you free, you know. It makes you feel awkward and embarrassed and defenseless and red in the face and horrified and petrified and vulnerable. But free? I don't feel free. I feel like shit.”

“She is standing just behind you. Just behind your right shoulder."In the silence of the woods, Polly turned."I can't see her," she said."I am happy for you," said Wazzer, handing her the empty mug."But I didn't see anything," said Polly."No," said Wazzer. "But you turned around...”

“One more step, Mr. Hands," said I, "and I'll blow your brains out! Dead men don't bite, you know," I added with a chuckle.”