Now, I was a fan of the simple pleasures in life: grilled cheese sandwiches without black flecks on the crust, jeans that didn't pinch the better parts of me, an inch of vodka, ten to twelve hours of sleep. - Cole St Clair, Forever.

Internet: What do you want for your birthday?
Virtual Cole: to stay young forever

Cole texted me:
Actually I want you

Mein Herz pumpte flüssiges Sonnenlicht.

I felt a tickle on my skin; it took me a moment to realize that Cole was driving his die-cast Mustang up my arm. He was laughing to himself, hushed and infectious, as if there was still any reason to be quiet. He turned the car around at my shoulder and headed back down to my hand, the wheels skidding a bit when he laughed.
I thought it was the truest thing I'd ever heard from Cole St. Clair.

You're assuming they would listen to me," I said.
Cole lifted his hands off the roof of the Volkswagen; cloudy fingerprints evaporated seconds ater he did. "We all listen to you, Sam."
He jumped to the pavement. "You just don't always talk to us.

I started down but Sam caught my arm and knelt down himself to look.
"For crying out loud," he said. "It's a racoon."
"Poor thing," I said.
"It could be a rabid baby-killer," Cole told me primly.
"Shut up," Sam said pleasantly.