I assemble stories-me and a hundred million other people-at the sentence level. Not by coming up with a sweeping story line.

I sleep with a glass of water on the nightstand so I can see by its level if the coastal earth is trembling or if the shaking is still me.

And I see that not touching for so long was a drive to the beach with the windows rolled up so the waves feel that much colder.

I told him about the way they get to know you. Not the way people do, the way they flatter you by wanting to know every last thing about you, only it isn't a compliment, it is just efficient, a person getting more quickly to the end of you. Correction - dogs do want to know every last thing about you. They take in the smell of you, they know from the next room, asleep, when a mood settles over you. The difference is there's not an end to it.

I meet a person, and in my mind I'm saying three minutes; I give you three minutes to show me the spark.

I get rational when I panic.

He could not wait to get rid of them so he could enjoy remembering them.