I’m sure she goes home and talks to whatever friends she has about how brave I am. I didn’t choose to be deaf. I have no idea why it makes me brave.

I might be burning bridges, but they’re my bridges to burn.

My old art teacher told me I draw like a man. I’ve never forgiven him. I don’t draw like anything, I draw like everything. I draw like me.

I don't rack paint either, even though some writers would say that doesn't make me legit. I'm not a thief, I'm a vandal. That's why I work at Mickey D's: I buy my own supply.

I wish people didn’t call them that. Trolls… They aren’t mythical creatures. You can’t look up how to defeat them in the Monster Manual. There are no critical hits, no saving rolls. They aren’t make-believe. They’re real. And they’re assholes.

I want to feel breath on my ears. They aren't dead. They can still feel.

How are you still standing?" "Am I? I feel like I'm falling.

Fries go in, fries come out. Fries go in, fries come out. Small, regular, large, extra-large. Fries go in, fries come out. Sweat drips down my back, my chest burning hot. I try not to scald my forearms when people slam into me, rushing between stations. Fries go in, fries come out. I am the siren call of McDonald's: smell the fries, you cannot resist. You want the fries. You need the fries, I hate the fries. I am the fries. Fries go in, fries come out.

They just needed someone to hate. Someone to fill the endless hours of their empty lives. A villain to make them feel like heroes.

Chaotic good ones place a high value on free will: they always intend to do the right thing, even if their methods are haphazard and generally out of sync with the rest of society.