Every fiction has its base in fact.

All relationships are tough. Just like with music, sometimes you have harmony and other times you have cacophony.

Please Mia," he implores. "Don't make me write a song.

Is that what death would feel like? The nicest, warmest, heaviest never-ending nap? If that’s what it’s like, I wouldn’t mind.

And our lips. There isn't enough skin, enough spit, enough time, for the lost years that our lips are trying to make up for as they find each other. We kiss. The electric current switches to high. The lights throughout all of Brooklyn must be surging.

I know that unlike that night, tonight I won't kiss her. Or touch her. Or even see her up close. Tonight, I'll listen. And that'll be enough.

These days, you’ve gotta milk a dollar out of every dime.