There were people everywhere on the city street, but the stranger could not have been more alone if it were empty.

You can do all manner of underhanded nice things when you have a caustic reputation.

Two weeks to change the world, fourteen days to destroy it.

We both laugh and run and the moment is so thick around me that i feel like dropping into it to let it carry me.

The Gunman is useless. I know it. He knows it. The whole bank knows it.

So I saw that there was only me. There was only me who could worry about what was happening here, inside these walls of my life. Other people had their own worlds to worry about, and in the end, they had to fend for themselves, just like us.

When I recollect her, I see a long list of colors, but it's the three in which I saw her in the flesh that resonate the most. Sometimes I manage to float far above those three moments. I hang suspended, until a septic truth bleeds toward clarity. That's when I see them formulate: THE COLORS RED: [rectangle] WHITE: [circle] BLACK: [swastika] They fall on top of each other. The scribbled signature black, onto the blinding global white, onto the thick soupy red.