Tamra

“All saints should be judged guilty until proven innocent.”
― George Orwell

“The people at home,” I said. “A lot of them call me an apple.”

Do they think you’re a fruit or something?” he asked.

No, no,” I said. “They call me an apple because they think I’m red on the outside and white on the inside.”

Ah, so they think you’re a traitor.”

Yep.”

Well, life is a constant struggle between being an individual and being a member of the community.”

Can you believe there is a kid who talks like that? Like he’s already a college professor impressed with the sound of his own voice?

Gordy,” I said. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to say to me.”

Well, in the early days of humans, the community was our only protection against predators, and against starvation. We survived because we trusted one another.”

So?”

So, back in the day, weird people threatened the strength of the tribe. If you weren’t good for making food, shelter, or babies, then you were tossed out on your own.”

But we’re not primitive like that anymore.”

Oh, yes, we are. Weird people still get banished.”

You mean weird people like me,” I said.

And me,” Gordy said.

All right, then,” I said. “So we have a tribe of two.”

I had the sudden urge to hug Gordy, and he had the sudden urge to prevent me from hugging him.

Don’t get sentimental,” he said.

Yep, even the weird boys are afraid of their emotions.”
― Sherman Alexie, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian

“And I couldn't take my eyes off Pete. He ate dinner like he always did, in three or four huge, whoofing bites, before heading back out front to his cone of warmth, his coffee, his cigarettes, and ghostly tunes piping from his little transistor radio. And most important, to whatever thoughts drowned out the voices of his own family saying "hello" and "happy holidays."

I watched him because I couldn't believe that could be anyone's comfortable horizon. A tiny porch on a dark corner near a highway. We lucked out living on a planet made thrilling by billions of years of chance, catastrophe, miracles, and disaster, and he'd rejected it. You're offered the world every morning when you open your eyes. I was beginning to see Pete as a representative of all the people who shut that out, through cynicism, religion, fear, greed, or ritual.”
― Patton Oswalt, Zombie Spaceship Wasteland

“Roddy the assistant manager lived in the theater. He'd emptied out one of the supply closets. He'd installed an inflatable mattress, a Shower Anywhere portable shower, and a wee television. He slept amid the powdered-butter fumes and empty drink-syrup tanks. He had grub-white skin and Goth circles under his eyes that, unlike those of Goths, came from really, truly existing half in the world of the dead. He smelled like carpeting, Scotch tape, and steak sauce. He was almost forty but had one of those half mustaches that thirteen-year-olds have. He was the closest thing to a zombie I've yet encountered in this world.”
― Patton Oswalt, Zombie Spaceship Wasteland