I'm Keith," He Said, "and You're .

When I Worked In Theater, I Was Always Writing Things On Post-it Notes And Sticking Them On Screens Or Desks. Twitter Has Given Me A Way Of Continuing To Post Those Notes, Only A Lot Of Other People See Them, Too.

No One In History Had Ever Done Less And Yet Been So Wrong.

You've Never Told Me About Your Love Life, Scarlett. You're A Very Pretty Girl. You Must Have A Boy Shacked Up Somewhere For Your Personal Delights. I'd Bet It's A Booky One, Overtones Of Harry Potter And A Lot Of Black T-shirts.

Why Paris? Paris Needs No Reason. Paris Is Its Own Reason.

The Locker At The End Of Her Bed Had No Lock, And One Of The Hinges Was Busted. She Opened It Up. There Was A Thing In It. The Thing Might Have Been A Sandwich At Some Point, Or An Animal, Or A Human Hand...but What It Was Now Was Fuzzy And Putrid. A Minute Later, Ginny Was Down The Stairs, Out The Door, And Gone.