The Hot One: A Memoir of Friendship, Sex, and Murder

It was amazing how much a person’s life could progress in seven years, if given the chance.

I would be the promise she didn’t get to realize.

Maybe she’d think I was a fraud. “Oh, hi there: go fuck yourself. Am I supposed to believe you’ve been crying about me all these years? Do you light a candle on my birthday? Do you speak to me at night? Whatever. Where were you when you could have done something? You think this is all exciting now, worthy of your time, but where were you when I was

Picture the room you’re in right now; maybe it’s the kitchen, or maybe you’re on the train. Now picture the world outside your frame that’s just slightly out of view. Maybe it’s the next train car or the outside of your house just below the windows. Now imagine there’s a serial killer there, tracking your movements and counting down the days or hou

“If our bodies are ninety-three percent water and the earth is seventy-one percent water and the moon and the planets control the oceans, how can we claim we’re not also controlled by them?”

we were beginning to communicate in two different languages, with distinctly different perceptions of how the world worked.

it was hard to understand exactly who I was mourning.

I’m wondering if perhaps the familiarity they’re sharing now is really just a relic.

It would mean I was necessary.