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.

All my friends seem to be smart arses. Don't ask me why. Like many things, it is what it is.

Imagine smiling after a slap in the face. Then think of doing it twenty-four hours a day.

Why me?' I ask God. God says nothing. I laugh and the stars watch. It's good to be alive.

There were stars. They burned my eyes.

I wanted to drown inside a woman in the feeling and drooling of the love I could give her. I wanted her pulse to crush me with its intensity. That's what I wanted. That's what I wanted myself to be.

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.