Besides My Great Fashion Sense? I Play

Love Means You Can Never Be Apart.

Jane-sweetie, We've Talked About Your Weight-" My Mother Began. I'm Only Eight Years Old," I Said. "how About I Promise To Be Anorexic Later?

When Did They Start Coming After You?” “was It—was It After The Oil- Slick Hummer Crash?” The Gasman Asked Iggy Tentatively. My Eyes Widened. Oil-slick Hummer Crash? Iggy Rubbed His Chin, Thinking. “or Maybe It Was More---after The Bomb,” The Gasman Said In A Low Voice, Looking Down. “i Think It Was The Bomb,” Iggy Agreed. “that Definitely Seemed To Tick Them Off.” “bomb?” I Asked Incredulously.

What Are You Doing In There, Waxing Your Mustache?” Iggy Yelled, Pounding On The Bathroom Door. I Yanked The Door Open And Pushed Him Backward Hard, Making Him Stagger. “i Don’t Have A Mustache, You Idiot!” Iggy Giggled And Put His Arms Up To Protect Himself In Case I Punched Him. “and You Know What?” I Added. “you Don’t Have One Either. Well, Maybe In A Couple Years. You Can Always Hope.” I Left Him In The Hallway, Anxiously Fingering His Upper Lip.

Okay, Okay, Okay. I Understood That Pushing The Elevator Button Over And Over Again Would Not Make The Elevator Appear Sooner. But I Couldn't Help Myself