This was a real friend. Like old times—better times. When your chip bags spilled over and your idols reeked and all your friends tried to kill you.
Fate gives the enigmatic-yet-still-relatable protagonist the good partnering fortune she deserves.
I see now that I’m synecdochic for every institution she’s felt pinched by, every older person she’s felt used by. She wants to summon what little power she has left and ruin.
There was, I thought, a type of man who’d frequent a bathhouse. This turned out to be ignorance.
In the middle of the night, the train makes one of many stops in a small town whose name appears written in a dream alphabet.
I am now one of a small number of people to have actually seen The Four in the flesh. Well, not quite the flesh.
They had only been married a year and she knew with absolute certainty that his mother would blame her for this.
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