Death smells like birthday cake.

“Cole,” I said, “do you think I’m lovable?”“As in ‘cuddly and’?”“As in ‘able to …”

“When the end comes, dark and hungry I'll be alone, love When the end comes, bla…”

“You two are too cute,” the counter girl said, setting two cups piled with whipp…”

“his voice was centuries old”