Allie sighed. It was an old, yellow sound, like turning pages.

“The Writer: [voiceover] I was 12 going on 13 the first time I saw a dead human …”

“Sure. Sure you have. I never forget a face.”

“You don't worry about dropping the eggs until you're almost home.”

“Cut him. Cut him while I stand here and watch. I want to see the blood flow. Do…”