There's no deodorant for desperation.

In my family, misery didn't just love company, it wanted hostages.

There was a weird intimacy, sitting in a car together. Couples sat in cars. Cops and their partners. Strangers became unstrange, sharing a windshield view of the world.

The art and act of writing - speaking just for myself - involves getting your proverbial ass in the proverbial chair.

Life can be lived as a temporary arrangement. Life is a temporary arrangement! But the longer you go without changing, the more obscure the likelihood you ever will. After enough time passes, the idea of another way of life grows even more misty.

There's no deodorant for desperation.

I kept getting high to kill my shame at the fact that I kept getting high.