Life is a big fat gigantic stinking mess, that's the beauty of it, too.

The politeness was painful. I wanted to push through it, to return to the glow of the night of the concert, but I was unsure of how to get back there.

Sleep would be so welcome. A warm blanket of black to erase everything else. Sleep without dreams. I've heard people talk about the sleep of the dead. 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. If that's what dying is like, I wouldn't mind that at all.

So are you moving on now? Is that what brought you to the grand metropolis of Valladolid?” “No. The wind just blew me here.” “What? Like a plastic bag?” “I prefer to think of myself as a ship. Like a sailboat.

It's just one day, one twenty-four-hour period to get yourself through. - Adam

And the voice grows stronger and stronger, and it’s my voice this time and it’s asking a question: How does she know?

If these walls could talk, I wonder what secrets they'd tell.