There are no accidents.

That all the pieces of my life are falling right into place.

Who's up for Sheldon-free Saturday?

I see all and know all. What are your names?

No visible reaction. Image number two: sousaphone.

Non negotiable. Renounce the rebels. We await your reply.

You know. You should think of my work as wordless sound poems.

Our astronauts investigated a crashed alien ship. No survivors on board.

Please don't tell me that your hopeless infatuation is devolving into pointless jealousy.

By the way, when I say that, it's not offensive.

It is violent, unpredictable, incurable. Or so we thought.

We're the last company standing between them and total energy dominance. And we can no longer compete.

To do what? There's no going home to your families, so you'd live factionless.

We even feed the factionless, the ones who don't fit in anywhere.

When you say "non-related female," you still mean human, right?

Middle school. A clear lake of untroubled spring water. High school is a bathroom full of these train wrecks.

And I did think about nothing but writing, until the next day, when I could think about nothing but food.

Are you calling my life's work nonsense, Murph?

Yes, and this with the cigarette butt in it, is that decaf? Oh god.

Those of you who do not return will have your names carved in the Secret History of the Mongols.