The worst is knowing I can't tell anybody what's happening -or what's happened- to me. Not even my mom.

But maybe you carried your demons with you everywhere, the way you carried your shadow.

I wonder if this is how people always get close: They heal each other's wounds; they repair the broken skin.

Waste today, want tomorrow.

Chance. Stupid, dumb, blind chance. Just a part of the strange mechanism of the world, with its fits and coughs and starts and random collisions.

As Steve draws me closer to the band, all I can see is a frenzied mass of seething, writhing people, like a many-headed sea snake, grinding, waving their arms, stamping their feet, jumping. No rules, just energy - so much energy, you could harness it; I bet you could power Portland for a decade. It is more than a wave. It's a tide, an ocean of bodies.

Here's another thing to remember: hope keeps you alive. Even when you're dead, it's the only thing that keeps you alive.