Alex loved books. He was the one who first introduced me to poetry. That's another reason I can't read anymore.

Maybe next time, but probably not.

For all the people who have infected me with amor deliria nervosa in the past - you know who you are. For the people who will infect me in the future - I can't wait to see who you'll be. And in both cases: Thank you.

I used to think that's what love was: knowing someone so well he was like a part of you.

Could it be? Samantha Kingston? Home? On a Friday?” I roll my eyes. “I don’t know. Did you do a lot of acid in the sixties? Could be a flashback.” “I was two years old in 1960. I came too late for the party.” He leans down and pecks me on the head. I pull away out of habit. “And I’m not even going to ask how you know about acid flashbacks.” “What’s an acid flashback?” Izzy crows. “Nothing,” my dad and I say at the same time, and he smiles at me.

That's the thing about best friends. That's what they do. They keep you from spinning off the edge.

That's what Zombieland is: frozen, calm, quiet.