I Don't Do A Lot Of Foisting,

I Can Imagine Anything Except Having No Imagination.

A Delicate, Inexorable Lattice Of Inferences Began To Assemble Themselves, Like A Crystal, In The Old Man's Mind, Shivering, Catching The Light In Glints And Surmises.

We Have The Idea That Our Hearts, Once Broken, Scar Over With An Indestructible Tissue That Prevents Their Ever Breaking Again In Quite The Same Place.

My Saturday Night. My Saturday Night Is Like A Microwave Burrito. Very Tough To Ruin Something That Starts Out So Bad To Begin With.

Misogyny Comes Naturally To A Young Man In His Late Teens; It Is A Function Of The Powerful Homosocial Impulses That Flower Along Fraternity Row, That Drove The Mod Movements Of The Middle Sixties And Late Seventies, That Lie At The Heart Of Every Rock Band Formed By Men Of That Age.