“Come on," he said. "Bring the poker."I brought the tongs as well. I felt like it.”

“Trent, do you have any weapons? Like a gun?” He looked at me in disgust. “You’re here to protect me,” he said as he closed the distance between us and stood beside me. “You didn’t bring a weapon?” “Yeah, I brought a weapon,” I snapped as I brought my splat gun out and aimed it at the ceiling where the sounds were coming from. “I just thought that since you’re a freaking murderer you might have a gun, too (...)”

“The first time I bring a girl home, and not only is she the daughter of a famous poker player, but she could easily bankrupt us all in a single hand. For being the family fuckup, I felt like I had finally gained a little respect from my older brothers. And it was all because of Abby.”

“Susan's gotta poker, you know," it said, as if anxious to be helpful. WELL, WELL. INDEED. MY GOODNESS ME."I fort-thought all of you knew that now. Larst-last week she picked up a bogey by its nose."Death tried to imagine this. He felt sure he'd heard the sentence wrong, but it didn't sound a whole lot better however he rearranged the words.”

“So, Buckley, huh?" he asked, pulling away from me. "You think he deserves that much credit?""Well, he did bring us together and all," I said."Oh, is that what brought us together?" His brown crinkled together. "I thought it was that ten minutes of unprotected passion in a cheap Manhattan hotel room.""I'd give it six at most.”

“What's up?' he said, like the church was always burning down and I always called him on a school night, telling him to come over after dark and bring a shovel.”