“That?" I glanced back to the door where JT had disappeared. "That was Genus Homo, species Whowantstofuckus, subspecies Closeted Headup Hisassia. Let us move on to the cages with the interesting animals."--Jacob "Yasha" Livingston”

“That was Genus Homo, species Whowantstofuckus, subspecies Headup Hisassia. Let us move on to the cages with the interesting animals.Jacob to Ben describing JT”

“Whoever had covered our sidewalk with seals and signs apparently had an ax to grind, but I wasn’t worried. Whatever they wanted, I wasn’t about to let it get to me.Nothing could feel quite so benign as a warm spring day in St. Nacho’s.So… For some unknown—and probably unknowable—reason, the Witches of Westwick were trying to freak me out. I blew out a long, thin stream of smoke and grinned.Cool. - Daniel Livingston”

“But so far he's stayed so deep in the closet, they're going to crown him king of Narnia.”

“Experimenting with touch, he found he barely had to ripple a light fingertip over his sleeping lover, and Tristan would move, twisting until he was melted into Michael's embrace. Stroking Tristan's cheek got Michael a sleepy kiss. Touching Tristan's back or sliding a hand down his spine earned Michael the satisfying squeeze of arms around him. And squeezing Tristan's ass got him a fully awake and erect boy-toy looking for love.”

“It’s like I have no idea who I am anymore,” said Tristan. “Who the hell was that?”“I don’t know, but he’s like…the porn fairy…and I’m not letting him get away.”

“Ask me again, Tristan read on his cell phone. Ask what? he sent back. Why I call you Sparky. Michael fumbled with the keys, not looking up. Well, sure, why? Tristan sent back. You light me up, came the answer, and Tristan's nimble fingers stopped on the keys. He stared hard at the small screen on his phone, the text message right there, waiting to see if he would send a reply. He just sat and stared till his phone turned off, unable to look up into the oh-so-blue eyes of the man who had sent it.”