I'm bad at picking heroes.

The future of narrative? Built in, part of the human template. Not going away.

You think you have the amount of money that is your credit limit. We're just wired to think that, you know? Until the bill arrives - a sobering moment - you think you're richer than you are.

I planned my death carefully, unlike my life, which meandered along from one thing to another, despite my feeble attempts to control it.

I want to be held and told my name. I want to be valued, in ways that I am not; I want to be more than valuable. I repeat my former name; remind myself of what I once could do, how others saw me. I want to steal something.

Yelling is a form of publishing

Thy only authentic ending is the one provided here: John and Mary die, John and Mary die, John and Mary die.