"Please stop," I said. "You're upsetting the black Santas."

As I followed Margo's directions through the maze of one-way streets, we saw a few people sleeping on the sidewalk or sitting on benches, but nobody was moving. Margo rolled down the window, and I felt the thick air blow across my face, warmer than night ought to be. I glanced over and saw strands of her hair blowing all around her face. Even though I could see her there, I felt entirely alone among these big and empty buildings, like I'd survived the apocalypse and the world had been given to me, this whole and amazing and endless world, mine for the exploring.

Why is it upset? Shouldn't it be downset?

... I didn't know whether to feel angry at her for making me part of her suicide or just to feel angry at myself for letting her go.

But before we can radically reshape the world, we need to shop.

We were very different, and we disagreed about a lot of things, but he was always so interesting, you know?

Incidentally, did you know that the whole eight glasses a day thing is complete bullshit and has no scientific basis? So many things are like that. Everyone just assumes they're true, because people are basically lazy and incurious, which incidentally is one of those words that sounds like it wouldn't be a word but is.