“What am I supposed to do while you’re gone? (Shahara)Think up ways to kill me while I sleep. (Syn)”

“What now? (Shahara)I’m thinking. (Syn)Could you think a little quicker? (Shahara)You’re not helping. (Syn)You’re lucky you’re still breathing and not limping. (Shahara)”

“Shut up. Asshole. (Shahara)I live for your endearments. (Syn)”

“You do know I am my father’s son, right? People don’t talk to me that way and live. (Syn)Oh, like I fear you. Never. Besides, a fight might dislodge whatever has crawled up your sphincter and bring back the much nicer version of you. (Shahara)”

“Tell me what you’re looking for and i will become that for you. I can sacrifice my inner freedoms for you without looking twice at my old journals and solid promises I made to myself about such things. But you must be prepared to kill me when the smiles are no longer frequent. Do it while I sleep. While I hold your hand. Do it fast, baby. Do it fast.”

“What am I supposed to do with a wool coat? Especially here in Palm Springs?”“Sleep with it,” he suggested. “Think of me.”