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Mort drove one of those little hybrid cars that, when not running on gasoline, was fueled by idealism. It was made out of crepe paper and duct tape and boasted a computer system that looked like it could have run the NYSE and NORAD, with enough attention left over to play tic-tac-toe. Or possibly Global Thermonuclear War.
"Kinda glad I'm dead," I muttered, getting into the car by the simple expedient of stepping through the passenger's door as if it had been open. "If I were still breathing, I'd feel like I was taking my life into my hands here. This thing's an egg. And not one of those nice, safe, hard-boiled eggs. A crispy one."
"Says the guy who drove Herbie's trailer-park cousin around for more than ten years," Mort sniped back.
~Ghost Story, Jim Butcher
Oh, Harry Dresden ... I love you so. Even if you are sorta dead.
"Kinda glad I'm dead," I muttered, getting into the car by the simple expedient of stepping through the passenger's door as if it had been open. "If I were still breathing, I'd feel like I was taking my life into my hands here. This thing's an egg. And not one of those nice, safe, hard-boiled eggs. A crispy one."
"Says the guy who drove Herbie's trailer-park cousin around for more than ten years," Mort sniped back.
~Ghost Story, Jim Butcher
Oh, Harry Dresden ... I love you so. Even if you are sorta dead.
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I won't be going, though. I'm sure tickets are required -- which, of course, I don't have. But, even without that, I'm equally as sure that it'll be crowded as heck.
I hope you have a great time if you go!
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