That's The Great Thing About Being In

Too Pissed Off To Cry, I Said, 'this Is Only Making Me Hate Her. I Don't Want To Hate Her. And What's The Point, If That's All It's Making Me Do?' Still Refusing To Answer How And Why Questions. Still Insisting On An Aura Of Mystery. I Leaned Forward, Head Between By Knees, And The Colonel Placed A Head On My Upper Back. 'the Point Is That There Are Always Alsweres, Pudge.' And Then He Pushed Air Out Between His Pursed Lips And I Could Hear The Angry Quiver In His Voice As He Repeated, 'there Are Always Answers. We Just Have To Be Smart Enough.' ~miles/pudge And Chip/the Colonel, Pg 168

And Then I Was Asleep. That Deep, Can-still-taste-her-in-my-mouth Sleep, That Sleep That Is Not Particularly Restful But Difficult To Wake Up From All The Same.

And, Since They Are Theater People, They Are All Talking. All Of Them. Simultaneously. They Do Not Need To Be Heard; They Only Need To Be Speaking.

Coal Miners Don't Get Coal Miners' Block.

I'm Not Embarrassed By My Faith, And I'm Also Not Embarrassed By My Doubt.