God has made us study partner. We need to talk about our project.

Once you've arrived at the end of the world, it hardly matters which route you took.

Here it comes. My inevitable death, ignoring me all those years when I wished for it daily, arriving only after I've decided I want to live forever.

I wince at her use of the word "human." I've never liked that differentiation. She is living and I'm dead, but we're both human. Call me an idealist.

It’s sad to see them staring wistfully through the window when the door isn’t locked.

Of course, if I eat all of him, if I spare his brain, he'll rise up and follow me back to the airport, and that might make feel better. I'll introduce him to everyone, and maybe we'll stand around and groan for a while. It's hard to say what 'friends' are any more, but that might be close.

I've always been interested in writing from the perspective of an outsider.