“Grief hates a moving target.”

I wish I could talk to the others that came before me, their fingers gripping this library book so tight that the pressed lettering of the title on the cover wore away with use. We’d start some kind of Ronald Malfi Support Group, where we’d hold each other and cry and lie to ourselves and say, “We’ll stop thinking about this someday.” We won’t.

“Come With Me” is the Ronald Malfi summit. I’ve climbed the mountain and I’ve looked down and I’ve yelled, “‘Come With Me’ is the Ronald Malfi summit!” and the echos of my cries have covered every other Malfi book I’ve read (all three of them.) I’ve begun a one man case study on how this guy bewitches me at every turn. I’d report back with my findings but I’ll be far too busy crawling out of this guy’s brain in shock and awe. As usual, there are readers that disagree with me on this one. I won’t be reading their reviews: I know them to be incorrect.

5/5 Ronald, you have to stop. You smoke too tough. Your swag too different. Your bars are too fire. You’re killing ME Malfi.