It was hard to remember what the yard had looked like even twelve hours before, undisturbed and pristine. Like it takes so little to change something, but to make you forget the way it once was, as well.

I think readers are just looking for things that maybe they recognize or can relate to in the books.

I had this wild thought that he was the only one in all this chaos who was just like me, and that was comforting and profound all at once.

There was something so heavy about the burden of history, of the past. I wasn't sure I had it in me to keep looking back.

Again, it occurred to me how weird it was to be permanent in a place that to everyone else was only temporary. Like I could never be sure if they were the ones who weren't real, or if I was.

Like so many before them, they didn't care that my dad was only the messenger. They still wanted to shoot him.

It took a lot of work to be perfect.