Futuristic Violence and Fancy Suits (Zoey Ashe, #1)

by Jason Pargin

Zoey pulled up to the window and ordered a small container of a semisolid, protein-rich foodstuff that the people in her time call “chili,” hoping it would warm her up a couple of degrees (at least before the heat left her body a few minutes later in the form of several dozen hot farts).

People like me know that there is no magic. There is only the grind. Work looks like magic to those unwilling to do it.”

You’ll know that humans aren’t cut out for anything. We cut ourselves out. Slowly, with a rusty knife. Because otherwise, here’s what’s going to happen: you’re going to die and you’re going to stand at the gates of judgment and you’re going to ask God what was the meaning of it all, and God will say, ‘I created the universe, you little shit. It was up to you to give it meaning.’”