The English Play Hockey In Any Weather.

Irony Is The Word I Forget The Meaning Of Immediately After I Look It Up, But I Kind Of Feel Like I Live In A Constant State Of It.

I Have No Phobias. Phobias Are Irrational. My Fears Are Rational And Carefully Cultivated, Like Roses.

I Sleep Better Knowing That A Naked Cork-eater Is Not Sneaking Around At Night, Stealing My Underwear.

The Locker At The End Of Her Bed Had No Lock, And One Of The Hinges Was Busted. She Opened It Up. There Was A Thing In It. The Thing Might Have Been A Sandwich At Some Point, Or An Animal, Or A Human Hand...but What It Was Now Was Fuzzy And Putrid. A Minute Later, Ginny Was Down The Stairs, Out The Door, And Gone.

No One Hid Their Interest When I Walked Into The Room. I'm Not Sure If It Was The News About Boo Or My General Appearance. At Home, People Would Have Asked. People Would Have Been Crawling All Over Me For Information. At Wexford, They Seemed To Extract What They Wanted To Know By Covert Staring.