We smile, because this is how we save the world.

Peel off these dusty wool blankets of apathy and antipathy and cynical desiccation. I want life in all its stupid sticky rawness.

What's the point of trying to fix a world we're so briefly in?

I think we crushed ourselves down over the centuries. Buried ourselves under greed and hate and whatever other sins we could find until our souls finally hit the rock bottom of the universe. And then they scraped a hole through it, into some ... darker place.

But I'm not afraid of the skeletons in Julie's closet. I look forward to meeting the rest of them, looking them hard in the eye, giving them firm, bone-crunching handshakes.

We're fumbling in the dark, but at least we're in motion.

Are my words ever actually audible, or do they just echo in my head while people stare at me, waiting?