I decided to deflect her attitude by giving a long, Southern answer. I come from people who know how to draw things out. Annoy a Southerner, and we will drain away the moments of your life with our slow, detailed replies until you are nothing but a husk of your former self and that much closer to death.

Why Paris? Paris needs no reason. Paris is its own reason.

Stuart, who had just witnessed me go through an entire rainbow of emotions and experiences. There was parents-have-just-been-jailed me, stuck-in-a-strange-town me, insane-and-can't-shut-up me, kind-of-snarky-to-the-strange-guy-trying-to-be-helpful me, breakup me, and the extremely popular jump-on-top-of-you-unexpectedly me.

It was almost funny. Life seemed downright accidental in its brevity, and death a punch line to a lousy joke.

She firmly held the theory that everyone gets at least one very stupid superpower.

Something about this boat screamed, "I am a very popular model in the world's oil-bearing regions. I cost more than your soul!

She wasn't only gay, she was a gay elf.