"What if I poured coffee on my cereal instead of milk? ...Hermann? Herms? Are you listening to me?"

Why was no one making a lick of bloody sense!

It was said you would be drawn to your one. That was the only advantage you had.

The boy took his hand.

"Are we the only guests?" "Yes, I thought we should get to know one another."

"Yeah, I really wasn't being subtle, was I?"

"I hope you got your shitting pants on."

If love lived anywhere, it was shaped to soft, ivory perfection under her skirts.

"Take the car, at least?" Brad asked, "Your shit box isn't going to make it without breaking down this time."

He'd been about to tell him everything when Jack called. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

Maybe he didn't mind losing that bet after all.

God had granted him eyes, but he'd needed a few more years to see.

Because Quinn had made it clear he wasn't going anywhere. Perhaps for a very long time.

It was instinct. The old kind. The kind he figured they'd all forgotten.

Whichever dead moron wrote that time heals all wounds had been wrong.

But when it came to Colin, she was an animal without fault.

The truth was, she was cripplingly bored.

Memories hit differently after the drift. Meaning, sometimes he didn't know which memories were whose. You'd think he would. He knew his own mind, after all. Mostly. But the drift had changed everything. Sometimes he didn't know if they were his and he'd just forgot, or if he and Hermann's brain-juice had ripped through a memory blender and melded together - somehow.

Everything about Hermann was stupid.

And maybe that was what being human was all about anyway. Trying.