I’ve come to find that traveling the multiverse produces the same effect as a gnarly hangover induced by tequila, very distinct from one brought on by wine or whiskey. I have some experience with the former, more with the latter

The universe had just been upended. All of the pieces and places, the people and the particles, slid off a grand checkerboard and crashed into the ground, scattershot.

We’re going to need some caffeine and a lot of math.

You’re like the tide, you keep coming back to me. And each time you do you bring fresh salt spilling and gurgling into my wounds and you take away the ground that I stand on, leaving me to wonder when I’ll fall again.

You can’t keep jumping from reality to reality in hopes of finding one that you can fix. Or one that is perfect for you. No reality is perfect. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be. You have to stand and face reality.

The minutes sped by with abandon. Each of them wasted, frittered away with Marie and Feminina circling the mental path that led them back to the same result. Every second skipped ahead, gleefully taunting Nina, laughing at her misery as time carried her further and further away from Hank again.