rented, the second disc of the third season of Dexter. She poured herself a glass of vodka and washed down eight Klonopin, and dialed her cell phone. “Poison Control,” the voice said. “Yes, I have a question,” the girl said. “I have a friend who just took eight Klonopins, and thinks he should get himself to the emergency room. Is that right?” “Absolutely,” the voice said. “Eight Klonopins is a lethal dose.” “Are you sure about that?” “Yes, you better get your friend down here immediately.” “Right away,” said the zombie girl. And she pushed the off button on her phone and sat down to watch, rapidly stroking Zeppo in her lap, tears streaming down her face. And this really did happen. On the eighteenth of August, 2009.
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