Caitlin Thomas

— What does it mean when she smiles?
— I don't know, never did.

— Come on, Catty.
— Have you got a poem for me?
— You still owe me for the last one.

— It doesn't mean anything, fucking. It's not love.
— I get an itch, it's got to be scratched. I'd do it myself, only I'm too lazy. Why bother, when you can get someone else to do it for you?
— Nothing to do with love, fucking?
— Uh-uh. Nothing.