In the beginning, when I was trying to write, I couldnt turn off the outside world to the extent that I can now.

There is no answer. It's okay. But even if it wasn't okay, what am I supposed to do?

We knew our days were numbered. We had fouled up our lives and we were getting ready for a shake-up.

There was this funny thing of anything could happen now that we realized everything had.

Life and death matters, yes. And the question of how to behave in this world, how to go in the face of everything. Time is short and the water is rising.

But he stays by the window, remembering that life. They had laughed. They had leaned on each other and laughed until the tears had come, while everything else—the cold and where he'd go in it—was outside, for a while anyway.

Then I said something. I said, Suppose, just suppose, nothing had ever happened. Suppose this was for the first time. Just suppose. It doesn't hurt to suppose. Say none of the other had ever happened. You know what I mean? Then what? I said.