The sound of him drinking was indescribable—like dirty runoff down a storm drain.

This guy was a humorless bag of nothing but.

When I lifted up the skin, a fat kidney worm dripping with gore raised its bald, blind head and glared at me.

People talk about survival. What they mean is killing the other guy.

I thought if I loved you enough I could change you. I was so stupid.

I felt a lunatic’s laugh welling up inside me.

I like to think she hates my guts a little less every hour.

Did you ever think it won’t be the undead who kill us, but ordinary people?

I wanted to see the bullet coming, wanted to know the exact moment of my death.