“Nobody's cut out for this town," Shane said. "Nobody sane anyway.""Says the kid who came back.""Yeah, kind of proves my point.”

“And then it was between Shane and Claire on who retreated first. "Uou go," he said."Why?"Shane and Pete exchangedblooks. "Seriously?" Pete asked."Yeah, she's like that," Shane said, and turned to her. "Because you're my girlfriend, and I'm not going unti; I know you're safe. How's that?”

“Claire said. “I might be able to get him to stop.” “Who, crazy dude? Maybe. Or he might pull your head off,” Shane said. “I kind of worry.”She couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah?”“A little bit.”“That’s …nice.”He studied her, and returned the smile. “Yeah,” he said. “Kind of is, actually.”

“Shane? Thank God, somebody sane. Well, sane-ish.”

“Says the girl dressed up in formal Goth mourning," Shane said. "Seriously, who buys a black lace veil? You keep that on hand for special occasions, like prom and kid's birthdays?”

“Oh, hey, Claire,” she said, and blinked. “Where are you going?”“Funeral,” Shane said. On-screen, a zombie shrieked and died gruesomely.“Yeah? Cool! Whose?”“Hers.” Shane said.”

“Keys," she repeated, and slowly stepped back. "What do you mean, keys?""Car keys. As in, give them up. Now." Shane had that look -- hard, and no bullshit. "We don't have time for your drama, Monica. Nobody does.”