Garrett Quaid

“Jehovah’s Witness? Don’t sweat it. I’m going to hell, already booked my ticket. Bright side? I’m pagan. Your hell is my heaven... if for no other reason than you won’t be there.”
― Dennis Sharpe, Wednesday

“Wow. This place looks classy. The smell of fertilizer and rot is really in this season. Remind me, what are we doing here?” she asked looking at him with a coy smile. “Did we come for bait?”
― Dennis Sharpe, Wednesday

“Guns, double-crosses, hitmen… I can get used to a lot of things, but I’m never going to get used to sleeping where apocalypse bugs mate,” Wednesday said, walking into the room looking around. She dropped her Birkin on the floor and heard something scuttling behind the cheap plastic wood print veneer covered dresser. She turned to face Alvin, her head cocked to the side. “Seriously. I’m not saying five-star… I’m saying go on Expedia and find a place that actually has stars… any stars.”
― Dennis Sharpe, Wednesday

“Hey, Captain Neckbeard! Less talky-talky, more worky-worky!” Wednesday shouted rudely down at the man who had been changing the tire. She wasn’t planning on taking shit from a tow truck driving hick today or any other day.”
― Dennis Sharpe, Wednesday