Ask any comedian, tennis player, chef. Timing is everything.
I can't even trust my own imaginary dog. How much lower can a person get?
I'm a century old, an impossible age, and my brain has no anchor in the present. Instead it drifts, nearly always to the same shore. Today, as most days, it is 1962. The year I discovered love.
Somewhere along the line I'd lost the will not to eat.
Life is absolutely horrific, leading up to absolute horror.
The real truth is that the war didn't have much to do with it except that it provided a perfect limbo in which two people who were too young and too related could start kissing without anything or anyone making us stop.