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“Escape, sure. But it wasn’t so much about getting away, as going to. You can go anywhere in a book. Books are adventure. Knowledge. Possibility. Magic.”
“Should we beat Dash up now or later?” “We’re nice to Dash now,” said Langston with a sigh. “¡ÑoÑa es! ” said Benny, which I believe was Puerto Rican for “No fucking way.”
“Be sexy, be safe, dear literary Dash!” said Langston, laughing.
Langston told Dash, “I liked you better when you were snarly.” Dash said, “You didn’t like me at all.” “Exactly,” said Langston.
“This isn’t some bondage party, is it?” Dash asked. He must have started one of those D. H. Lawrence books. Oh yes, I Googled.
“People are going to be in a diabetic coma by the time they leave.” “Hopefully! That’s how we know it’s a good party.
It was Chaos on Glitter Ice. A massacre of librarians.
’Twas three nights before Christmas and all through the hospital, not a creature was stirring . . . except for a half-dozen librarians on painkillers.
“Who do you think you are?” he gruffly challenged. Kevin strode toward him and thrust out his drink so it sloshed a little in my father’s direction. “We’re librarians, sir. And we will not let you check out this future librarian unless you prove to us that you’ll take good care of him when he’s in your home.”
My goal is to haunt an opera house by the time I’m twenty-three.”
“I may start pulling an Adam Driver,” I warned her. “Wear a mask just for the fun of it.
I didn’t really believe in Christmas carols, but I could believe in them a little more if, like this, they pushed us a little closer to wonder, a little closer to gratitude.
Even the hard years have some reason for celebration,
I just got offered a job slinging drinks in the Pirate’s Booty bar. Because you’re wearing a pirate’s patch? No. Because I’m the only sober person down here.
A party, like the human body, will fall into rigor mortis without proper circulation.”
I know it’s not as intense or immediate as it used to be – but that just means that instead of having only a present together, we’re having a past, present, and future all at once.”
“What’s the one thing we want when it comes to the people we love? Time. And what’s the scariest thing about how love goes? Time. The thing we want the most is the thing we fear the most, I guess. Time is going to run out. But in the meantime we have . . . everything.”
“We must open our hearts to the downtrodden, and to scoundrels,” I told Dash, and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “’Tis the season.”
A Christmas miracle! Generosity!
These people were my coven.
One moment it was a perfectly good Donald Trump doll. The next it was a flying toupee and dismembered body parts.
“It’s a book!” Dash cried out, with all the excitement of having been given a new car.
