I Have Stitched Life Into Me Like

What Is So Real As The Cry Of A Child?

I Didn't Really See Why People Should Look At Me. Plenty Of People Looked Queerer Than I Did.

There Is Nothing Like Puking With Somebody To Make You Into Old Friends.

I Saw The Days Of The Year Stretching Ahead Like A Series Of Bright, White Boxes, And Separating One Box From Another Was Sleep, Like A Black Shade. Only For Me, The Long Perspective Of Shades That Set Off One Box From The Next Day Had Suddenly Snapped Up, And I Could See Day After Day After Day Glaring Ahead Of Me Like A White, Broad, Infinitely Desolate Avenue.

I Wondered What I Thought I Was Burying.