“I feel it in my pocket. I don't want to lose it. It's one of the only things that's making me me right now. Without my cell phone, who will I be? I won't have any friends because I don't have their numbers memorized. I'll barely have a family since I don't know their cell phone numbers, just their home line. I'll be like an animal.”

“I remember my first cell phone number still. I may call it and ask to speak to myself from eight years ago. If they say I have the wrong number I’ll tell them, No, right number, wrong time.”

“Here's the thing: No matter where I go, sad things will happen to me, hard things. People I love will die, and sometimes I'll have to tell friends good-bye. I'll meet people who won't like me, and I'll know loneliness. I don't like it, but that's the way it is.”

“I just want to clarify that I don't mean 'without my vagina' like I didn't have it with me at the time. I just mean that I wasn't, you know...displaying it while I was at Starbucks. That's probably understood, but I thought I should clarify, since it's the first chapter and you don't know that much about me. So just to clarify, I always have my vagina with me. It's like my American Express card. (In that I don't leave home without it. Not that I use it to buy stuff with.)”

“I'm thinking about coffee and dessert when my phone rings. I don't recognize the number."Hello?""Bishop!" It's Coach Chase. I almost forgot that I gave him my number. I don't want my dad to know who's on the phone. That would raise all kinds of questions requiring evasive answers."Hey... buddy... um, how's it going?”

“my friends don't seem to be friends at all but people whose phone numbers I haven't lost.”