Yes, I know it. In the darkness of my dark beating heart, I know. He'd have loved it alright. You see? Even Death Has A Heart.

People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.

He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It’s his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.

Mistakes, mistakes, it's all I seem capable of at times.

How'd it feel?" Rube asked himself. "I don't know exactly, but it made me want to howl.

You can kill a man with those words. No gun. No bullets. Just words and a girl.

... And the boy whose hair remained the color of lemons forever.