I don’t think people love me. They love versions of me I have spun for them, versions of me they have construed in their minds. The easy versions of me, the easy parts of me to love.
"If there’s one thing this city’s taught me, you can put a price on anything. Secrets, reputations… a life. And trust? If you have to ask, you can’t afford it. But then I suppose none of that matters when you’re me.
After all, when did I ever pay for anything?”