“If I’m to be a ghost,” I told Caps, “I’m not haunting your aunt’s gloomy old place. I’d choose someplace livelier, more fun.”　　“Such as?”　　“A gay bar, of course.”

“Gina’s brow furrowed. “I’m a witch not fucking Harry Potter. You want miracles call the 700 Club.”

“It’s just that… I’m wanting to start dating myself.” I saw Gina’s eyes bug out. “I don’t mean dating myself. I’ve been doing that for ten years now. It’s gotten to the point where I buy my left hand chocolates on Valentine’s Day.”

“It’s my spider, Jeffrey. He’s a tarantula.” “Yes, he certainly seems to be.” “He’s my pet.” “Better you than me. I’m not overly fond of spiders. Too many legs.” “No,” Ernie said simply, “he’s got the right number.”

“I’d never thrown myself through a window before, but I knew what to do in theory. The answer is: don’t do it.”

“My hand found its way back to her knee. I hoped it was to comfort her. I’d hate to think that my right hand was straight. “Soon. I’ll call her this afternoon and get back to you.” She nodded. I removed my right hand, thankful that I was left-handed. I’d hate to have to try masturbating with a straight hand. It probably wouldn’t cooperate. And then where would I be?”

“Daisy was my beloved bulldog, who had some problems of her own—the main one being that she, too, was no longer alive. However, she wasn’t a ghost like Robbie. Daisy was a zombie. Long story.”