I Used To Be Sure Of Things.

You Take Up For Your Buddies, No Matter What They Do. When You're A Gang, You Stick Up For The Members. If You Don't Stick Up For Them, Stick Together, Make Like Brothers, It Isn't A Gang Anymore. It's A Pack. A Snarling, Distrustful, Bickering Park Like The Socs In Their Social Clubs Or The Street Gangs In New York Or The Wolves In The Timber.

What's The Safest Thing To Be When One Is Met By A Gang Of Social Outcasts In An Alley? ...no, Another Social Outcast!

... Hey, I Didn't Know You Didn't Like Baloney." I Went Cold. "i Don't Like It. I Never Liked It." Soda Just Looked At Me. "you Used To Eat It. That's Why You Wouldn't Eat Anything While You Were Sick. You Kept Saying You Didn't Like Baloney, No Matter What It Was We Were Trying To Get You To Eat." "i Don't Like It," I Repeated.

My Boyfriend Suggested I Write Two Pages A Day. He Wouldn't Take Me Out If I Hadn't Done My Two Pages. That's How I Wrote My Second Novel.

Maybe The Two Different Worlds We Lived In Weren't So Different. We Saw The Same Sunset.