There's that confidence again, that semi-infuriating easiness of his, the tilt of his head and the smile. but today it's not infuriating. Today I like it, feel like it's somehow rubbing off on me, like if I was around him enough I would never feel awkward or frightened or insecure.

Less than a month ago all of August still stretched before us - long and golden and reassuring, like an endless period of delicious sleep.

People could push and pull at you, and poke you, and probe as deep as they could go. They could even tear you apart, bit by bit. But at the heart and root and soul of you, something would remain untouched.

No guest rooms.” I shake my head resolutely. “I want to be in a room room. A lived-in room.

The tunnels may be long, and twisted, and dark; but you are supposed to go through them.

Still, the vivid green of the grass-where the grass is actually managing to assert itself through the dirt-seems out of place. This seems like a place where the sun should never shine: a place on the edge, at the limit, a place completely removed from time and happiness and life.

People are like ants: Just a few of them give all the orders. And most of them spend their lives getting squashed.