Human Nature Baby, Grab It And Growl.

I Worry About You Bev. I Worry A Lot.

What Jack Didn't Understand Was That No Matter Where He Went, The Same Asshole Got Off The Plane.

Later, Going Home, I Realized They Didn't Look Alike At All; What Made Them Seem To Was The Aftermath Of Stress And The Lingering Of Sorrow. It's Strange How Pain Marks Our Faces, And Makes Us Look Like Family.

Guys Like Henry And His Buddies Were An Accident Waiting To Happen; The Little Kids' Version Of Floods Or Tornadoes Or Gallstones.

Stories Are Like Relics, Part Of An Undiscovered Preexisting World. The Writer's Job Is To Use The Tools In His Or Her Toolbox To Get As Much Of Each One Out Of The Ground Intact As Possible.