. . . Endlessness is a really strange idea in a universe that is defined by its endings.

3 whole Catfish, Wrapped separately Veet (It’s for Shaving your legs Only you don’t Need A razor. It’s with all the Girly cosmetic stuff) Vaseline six pack, Mountain Dew One dozen Tulips one Bottle Of water Tissues One Can of blue Spray paint

You could hear the wind in the leaves, and on that wind traveled the screams of the kids on the playground in the distance, the little kids figuring out how to be alive, how to navigate a world that was not built for them by navigating a playground that was. . . Who am I to say that these things might not be forever? Who is Pete Van Houten to assert as fact the conjecture that our labor is temporary? All I know of heaven and all I know of death is in this park: an elegant universe in ceaseless motion, teeming with ruined ruins and screaming children.

Amsterdam is like the rings of a tree: It gets older as you get closer to the center.

They like their coffee like they like their ex-boyfriends: bitter.

I wanted to know that he would be okay if I died. I wanted to not be a grenade, to not be a malevolent force in the lives of people I loved.

We have to live with ambiguity. We have to give ourselves over to it. The question is: How? How are we going to live in a universe where important questions will always go unanswered?