I Couldn’t Bear To Think About The

I Don't Believe In Heaven Or Anything. But I Want To Be The Kind Of Person That Qualifies For Entry Anyway.

It Was Hopeless, Life, Really. It Was Set Up All Wrong.

The Artistic Temperament Is Particularly Unhelpful If It Is Just That, With No End Product.

We Were Little Animals, Which Is Not To Imply That By The End Of The Week We Were Tearing Our Tank Tops Off; Just That, Metaphorically Speaking, We Had Begun To Sniff Each Other's Bottoms, And We Did Not Find The Odor Entirely Repellent.

But All Three Of Them Had Had To Lose Things In Order To Gain Other Things. Will Had Lost His Shell And His Cool And His Distance, And He Felt Scared And Vulnerable, But He Got To Be With Rachel; And Fiona Had Lost A Big Chunk Of Marcus, And She Got To Stay Away From The Casualty Ward; And Marcus Had Lost Himself, And Got To Walk Home From School With His Shoes On.