A man is capable of thought. A crowd is not.

Like how stars might sound. Or moons But not mountains. Too floaty for mountains. It's a sound like one planet singing to another, high stretched and full of different voices starting at different notes and sloping down to other different notes but all weaving together in a rope of sound that's sad but not sad and slow but not slow and all singing one word. One word.

Everything that's happened has brought me here, to this place, with this knife in my hand, and something worth saving.

"You can eff off, too," I say, except I don't say eff, I say what 'eff' stands for.

Do you not wonder sometimes, she showed now, sadly, if in some ways they are correct? That we are asking too much of the world?"No," he said. "They're the ones who are asking for too little."

I was a hugely unchaperoned reader, and I would wander into my local public library and there sat the world, waiting for me to look at it, to find out about it, to discover who I might be inside it.

We are the choices we make. And have to make. We aren’t anything else.