So...if you could...who would you bring back first?
Freddie Mercury.
I test Caleb's patience so. Bridget-
I was just teasing. John Bonham for sure. Or Peter Steele. You know what? I'm not sure now.
Are you going to make jokes all day?
Jokes? That's the holy triad of unrequited bucket lists right there. Three bands I will never see intact, Queen, Zeppelin and Type-O Negative. You need to get with it.
I meant Cole or Jacob.
I'm only answering that if you're prepared to invoke your evil powers right this second to pull it off. If we have a deal, I'll give you a name. If you're not playing Satan than fuck you for asking. AGAIN, I might add. I don't understand why it even matters so much when they're both gone.
They aren't gone. You conjure them up in the fucking garage on every day that ends in Y. If they weren't in our faces all day every day we wouldn't wonder so much.
No one told you you had to live here. I reached past him and pried the honey dipper out of his hand as he spiraled the golden liquid into his tea. I stuck it in my mouth, then pulled it out and held it up over my open mouth to let the remainder drip onto my tongue.
No one told me you were such an incredible pain in the ass when you're sick, Bridget.
I'm worse when I feel well.
Yes, yes you are.
Gee, thanks.
Don't mention it.
