Bed

A kind of gluey indecision began in her eyes, a slow and brainward strain — this sort of melancholy distortion. It made it seem like she was very uncomfortable being alive.

At this point in their relationship, it was overridingly important to win all arguments.

“I never had an orgasm with you,” Brian said.
“You Brian — you idiot, I mean. I’ve seen evidence of it.”
“You believe everything you see? It’s my body and I’m telling you that I didn’t ever orgasm with you.” Brian turned and opened the refrigerator and stuck his head in.

She tried to look languished and fading-away — something like a corpse sinking into a lake at night — but ended up looking trashy and depraved, like a hooker.

He just didn’t want to be in a relationship. He wanted to live ethereally, intrinsically, not doing anything — like a plant.

Jed liked anyone who was weak or quiet. You had to be weak, or else you were mean.

Think too hard, he knew, and you found that there was no point in saying, thinking, or doing anything.

Dana was looking at Colin. “I’m taking a vampire class,” she said. “We just watch vampire movies.”

I don’t like myself but I think I like you

Snow was everywhere that Friday, in clumps and hills, glassy and metastasized as SUVs, and none of it white. The sky was a bright and affected gray — lit from some unseen light source, and not really that interesting. People went up and down Sixth Avenue with the word motherfucker in their heads. They felt no emotions, had no sensation of life, love, or the pursuit of happiness, but only the knowledge of being stuck between a Thursday and a Saturday, air and things, this thought and the next, philosophy and action; birth, death, God, the devil, heaven, and hell. There was no escape, ever, was what people felt.