There was quantum mechanics, string theory, and then there was the most mind-bending frontier of the natural world, women.

It was as if Hannah had sprung a leak and her character, usually so meticulous and contained, was spilling all over the place.

It’s hard, in America, not to equate ‘happiness’ with ‘things’.

It’s got to be some kind of cult. Anyone offers you Kool-Aid or a hot shower, say no.

Some people, every now and then, simply had to have One Too Many, go drifty voiced and slouch mouthed, swimming willfully around in their own sadness as if it were hot springs.

But most critically, sweet, never try to change the narrative structure of someone else's story, though you will certainly be tempted to, as you watch those poor souls in school, in life, heading unwittingly down dangerous tangents, fatal digressions from which they will unlikely be able to emerge. Resist the temptation. Spend your energies on your story. Reworking it. Making it better.

I was aware now, as ever, that between all people there were First Times You See Them and Last Times you See Them.