On the Bowery, in the ornate carcass of a formerly grand vaudeville theater, a dance marathon limps along. The contestants, young girls and their fellas, hold one another up, determined to make their mark, to bite back at the dreams sold to them in newspaper advertisements and on the radio. They have sores on their feet but stars in their eyes.

Goodbye," I whisper at last, when it no longer matters and there is no one to hear it but the window.

Why does anyone do anything? Belief. A belief that they are right and just in their actions. Abraham was willing to sacrifice his son, Isaac, because he believed that God had commanded it. To kill your son is unthinkable. A crime. But if you are acting in the belief that your God, your supreme deity whom you must obey, has demanded it of you, is it still a crime?

I should never be left alone with my mind for too long.

The trouble with morning is that it comes well before noon.

You are truly Satan's sequined spawn.

But if we are to remain a great empire, we must have a greater understanding of the hearts and minds of others.