I love the process of being alone in a room.

And as ridiculous as it may sound, sometimes all any of us needs in life is for someone to hold our hand and walk next to us.

My wife says I'm only comfortable when there's a fight. And it's true. The thing that motivates me is struggle.

I stand, walk over to him, sit down on his bed, put my arms around him, hug him. He hugs me back strong and I can feel the shame coming through his arms. I am a Criminal and he is a Judge and I am white and he is black, but at this moment none of that matters. He is a man who needs a friends and I can be his friend.

Trauma is survivable, but often not much more. It kills you while allowing you to still live.

I think of how and why and what happened and the thoughts come easily, but the answers don't.

The way America works, and the way L.A. works, is a very small percentage of people get what they want out of life, and a much greater percentage try very very hard and they don't. That's just the way it is.