— Where's our father, Meg?
— You didn't ask very nice.
— Where's our father, bitch?
— Hey, there's salt over here. Right inside the door.
— You mean like protection-against-demons salt or oops-I-spilled-the-popcorn salt?
— Yeah, maybe. Question is, why bugs? And why now?
— That's two questions.
...how many exist just because people believed in them?
— You know I gotta say… I'm sorry I'm gonna miss it.
— Miss what?
— How many chances am I gonna have to see my own funeral?
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