Somewhere out there is someone who had loving parents, watched clouds on a summer's day, lost a friend, is kind to animals, knows how to say "please" and "thank you," and fell in love with Olivia same as I did, and yet somehow the two of us are going to end up in a dirty little room with one knife between us and I am going to have to kill that human being.
It's a terrible thing. Not just because he's come to the same realization and wants to survive just as much as I do, meaning he's going to try and puncture my internal organs to set off a cascade trauma effect that ends with me voiding my bowels, dying alone and removed from the women we both love. No it's a terrible thing because somewhere along the way I could have made a different choice. I could have avoided that knife, that room, that girl. Or at least, we might have divvied up some turf and left each other alone. That would have been a lot smarter, wouldn't it? Even dogs are smart enough to do that. Now I am staring into the eyes of a fellow stalker and in a couple of minutes on of us is going to be vomiting blood to the rhythm of a fading heartbeat. the survivor is going to remember this night for the rest of his life.

I have an erection