I suppose he'll die soon. I'm expecting it, like you do for a dog that's seventeen. There's no way to know how I'll react. He'll have faced his own placid death and slipped without a sound inside himself. Mostly, I imagine I'll crouch there at the door, fall onto him, and cry hard into the stench of his fur. I'll wait for him to wake up, but he won't. I'll bury him. I'll carry him outside, feeling his warmth turn to cold as the horizon frays and falls down in my backyard. For now, though, he's okay. I can see him breathing. He just smells like he's dead.

Have faith, Ed, all right?' I search the coffee mug, but there's none in there.

Disbelief held me down inside my footsteps, making my body heavy but my heart wild.

I look at her wish we could go inside and make love on the couch. Dive inside each other. Take each other. Make each other. Nothing happens, though.

The question is what color will everything be at that moment when I come for you? What will the sky be saying?

Clearly," said Arthur,"you're an idiot- but you're our kind of idiot. Come on.

She gave 'The Dream Carrier' to Max as if words alone could nourish him.