“A movement unlocked my attention. I re-focused my eyes, looking past the vodka glass and into the static buzz of the TV. I stayed very still for a few seconds before lowering the glass to the floor, careful not to take my eyes off the screen. There was something distant and alive in the depths of the white noise - a living glide of thoughts swimming forward, a moving body of concepts and half felt images.”

“It's like when I first saw you at the Diabetic. I went up to you, but really you made the first move.""Shut up!" She remains unconvinced. "How?"I don't answer. I sit still. Then I look at her slyly out of the corner of my eye, before looking away. I look at her again, for longer this time, then drop my eyes. For my final look I stare, and bat my eyelashes provocatively.I must do a good job because Nia laughs. It feels goo to know I can do that."You look like such a dufus in those glasses! It's not sexy at all!" She puts her hand to her reddening face. "Oh. Did I really do that?""It worked, didn't it?”

“A cat is a responsibility after all. And feeding and keeping and caring about a stupid fat cat isn't much, isn't much in the entirety of what counts for being a person and the huge range of what people do,but it is something. It is something and it's something that's warm and that I still have.”

“Its hurtful and wonderful how our jokes survive us.Since I left home on this journey, I've thought a lot about this-how a big part of any life is about the hows and whys of setting up machinery. it's building systems, devices, motors. Winding up the clockwork of direct debits, configuring newspaper deliveries and anniversaries and photographs and credit card repayments and anecdotes. Starting their engines, setting them in motion and sending them chugging off into the future to do their thing at a regular or irregular intervals. When a person leaves or dies or ends, they leave an afterimage; their outline in the devices they've set up around them. The image fades to the winding down of springs, the slow running out of fuel as the machines of a life lived in certain ways in certain places and from certain angles are shut down or seize up or blink off one by one. It takes time. Sometimes, you come across the dusty lights or electrical hum of someone else's machine, maybe a long time after you ever expected to, still running, lonely in the dark. Still doing its thing for the person who started it up long, long after they've gone.A man lives so many different lengths of time.”

“Just tell me i'm not dreaming?"maybe you are," she said. "Probably you are."I don't want to be. Clio, i can't do this on my own."There was a bang.We both jumped, turned towards the Roman bath. A clump of leaves swirled on the surface of the water in a slow spiral.Is there something down there?"Clio nodded. "Yes."What is it?"I don't k now," she said, watching the waters. "Something from down where it gets black."There was another bang.Little waves raced across the littery surface, lapping the bath's mouldy tiled sides.Are you ready? This is it." Clio held me by the tops of my arms and gave me a smile which was meant to be strong and almost was.What? Clee, what's going on?"Bang.”

“Already the dream was coming apart, its bright silk strands unwinding into nebulous emotions, little coloured clouds of feeling being dispersed by the movement of my waking-up mind. This is how it's always been with Light Bulb Fragment dreams; by the time I'm fully awake, they're gone.”

“It's a stark thought that when we die most of us will leave behind uneaten biscuits, unused coffee, half toilet rolls, half cartons of milk in the fridge to go sour; that everyday functional things will outlive us and prove that we weren't ready to go; that we weren't smart or knowing or heroic; that we were just animals whose animal bodies stopped working without any sort of schedule or any consent from us.”