More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
It had been the best night of her life. The night that her horizons truly opened beyond the borders of her dusty, three-street hometown.
It pained her that she could remember Zhi’s first words to her but not his last. He had become both one of her ghosts and one of her demons, and she felt suffocated by his memory.
Start a new band—what kind of disloyal, callous bitch would do such a thing? Two more years had passed that way, in an inertia of self-loathing.
“You going to call it?” He snorted. “No, man. I’m an unreliable narrator.” He hesitated. “You really a clone?”
Even the marquee was on the wrong side of the building, as if her memories were reflections in a mirror. The single most important moment of her life, and her memory was nothing but a shoddy quilt of different clubs she’d played.
And rich people, they don’t think like you and me. I’m not even sure they live on this planet some of the time.
She knew the look intimately from growing up with her mother—it was when facts stopped mattering. When the truth became inconvenient, either contradicting her beliefs or becoming an obstacle to what she wanted.
Her car accelerated to eighty miles an hour, joining the immensely complex game of high-speed Tetris that was the DC morning commute.
“Man, this is so damn weird. Like, my wife is dead. But . . .” “But here I am.”
