bob_the _bug

“It's like asking me, 'How would you feel if you were a frog?' Well, I wouldn't be me then, would I? I'd be a frog. Do frogs even have feelings?”
― Rainbow Rowell, Wayward Son

“Go ahead and shoot me. This isn't my favourite shirt.”
― Rainbow Rowell, Wayward Son

“Something is very wrong with Bunce. She's collapsed in the back seat like a dead rabbit. But I can't really focus on it because of the sun and also the wind and because I'm very busy making a list.

Things I hate, a list:
1. The sun.
2. The wind.
3. Penelope Bunce, when she hasn't got a plan.
4. American sandwiches.
5. America.
6. The band, America. Which I didn't know about an hour ago.
7. Kansas, also a band I've recently become acquainted with.
8. Kansas, the state. Which isn't that far from Illinois, so it must be wretched.
9. The State of Illinois, for fucking certain.
10. The sun. In my eyes.
11. The wind in my hair.
12. Convertible automobiles.
13. Myself, most of all.
14. My soft heart.
15. My foolish optimism.
16. The words "road" and "trip" when said together with any enthusiasm.
17. Being a vampire, if we're being honest.
18. Being a vampire in a fucking convertible.
19. A deliriously thirsty vampire in a convertible at midday. In Illinois, which is apparently the brightest place on the planet.
20. The sun. Which hangs miles closer to Minooka, Illinois, than it does over London blessed England.
21. Minooka, Illinois. Which seems dreadful.
22. These sunglasses. Rubbish.
23. The fucking sun! We get it - you're very fucking bright!
24. Penelope Bunce, who came up with this idea. An idea not accompanied by a plan. Because all she cared about was seeing her rubbish boyfriend, who clearly cocked it all up. Which we all should have expected from someone from Illinois, land of the damned - a place that manages to be both hot and humid at the same time. You might well expect hell to be hot, but you don't expect it to also be humid. That's what makes it hell, the surprise twist! The devil is clever!”
― Rainbow Rowell, Wayward Son

“What eats you?”
He raises an eyebrow, giving me a taste of my own medicine. “Existential despair.”
― Rainbow Rowell, Wayward Son