“You have to work to carve out your own little corner, and I'm certainly smacking my head against the wall trying to make a dent. I just hope I don't get brain-damaged before I get there”

“I don't have time to ruins others lives. I'm too busy making my own better.”

“I didn’t know what the hell to say to that. I just gave an ungrateful sigh of exasperation and pulled the sweater over my head.‘It’s just your colour,’ Henry enthused.‘And you can fuck right off,’ I said.”

“The shaman helps you figure it out. I already know what I'm going to be."I prodded him in the ribs. He couldn't just leave me hanging like that."A speech therapist." he said.The whole world could have stopped. I wouldn't have noticed.Rafael gave me an unusually stoic look. "I'm going to get your voice back someday," he said. "I though that was obvious.”

“You'll have to forgive me," Dad said. His mouth was moving very little, a sign that he was tense. "I'm not...familiar with...the protocol. For boys like you. But I..."I felt my face turning red. No, no, no. Quit while you're ahead, Dad. Please."I'm sure you have...urges," Dad went on. "All teenage boys have...urges. I don't know whether you've...tried anything--"I said please!"Just as long as you're safe. That's very important. You still have to be safe, even if you're both boys. I don't know what really...um, entails. You know. How you...do things. I could look it up for you--"I clapped my hand over Dad's mouth. I took him by his arm, my face burning, and dragged him back to the field.”

“He's like...'I thought you were just friends.' You are my friend. You're my best friend. Why doesn't he get that? Anyway...I think he wants your dad to rally with him. I'm pretty sure he doesn't give a damn about the dry rot in the basement."I quirked the corner of my mouth dubiously. Dad rallying with Gabriel was pretty unlikely, considering the lengths he had gone to in proving his approval.Rafael took one look at me, horrified, and I knew we were on the same wavelength. He whispered: "If your dad gives my uncle the safe sex talk...”

“Like so many others of my tenure and temperament—stubborn ancients, I suppose—web reporting is anathema to everything I love about newspapering: getting a tip, developing leads, fleshing-out the details, then telling the story. Now it stops with the tip. Just verify (hopefully!) and post it. I didn’t write stories anymore; I 'produced content.”