..As always, she was carrying the washing. Rudy was carrying two buckets of cold water, or as he put it, two buckets of future ice.

It was a style not of perfection, but warmth. Even mistakes had a good feeling about them

Why can’t the world hear? I ask myself. Within a few moments I ask it many times. Because it doesn’t care, I finally answer, and I know I’m right. It’s like I’ve been chosen. But chosen for what? I ask.

I want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her. Nothing, however, exits my mouth. How well do we really let ourselves know each other? There's a long quietness until I finally break it open. It reminds me of someone breaking bread and handing it out. In my case, I hand out a question to my friend.

You should know it yourself- a young man is still a boy, and a boy sometimes has the right to be stubborn.

Of course you're real-like any thought or any story. It's real when you're in it.

People have defining moments, i suppose, especially when they're children.