Life is funny, baby, and that's no joke

But I know the difference. Everyone else is a ghost. I exist here alone, stranded by choice. Deserted.

I deciced if I were ever to get into booze and women, my line would be, 'Excuse me, madam, but I would really love to bed and muss you. . . . Are you perchance free this evening?

Perhaps it's not that I'm frigid-- it's that once I decide I like a guy, I turn into a raging idiot, unfit for public appearances.

I'm told there's no going back. So I'm choosing forward.

The desert adapts. The people adapt. Live. Die. Struggle. Suffer. Create. The people in the real world beyond Demesne's ring are not all manufactured perfection. They deal.

So much is happening and yet nothing at all.