Everything is a self-portrait. A diary. Your whole drug history’s in a strand of your hair. Your fingernails. The forensic details. The lining of your stomach is a document. The calluses on your hand tell all your secrets. Your teeth give you away. Your accent. The wrinkles around your mouth and eyes. Everything you do shows your hand.

How folks lay claim to a loved one is they give you a name of their own. They figure to label you as their property.

Every high school has its Romeo and Juliet, one tragic couple. So does every generation.

I want to find something else, unknowable, some place that's not on the map. A real adventure.

By the time you read this, you'll be older than you remember.

If you don't know what you want, you end up with a lot you don't.

The answer is there is no answer.