Being the survivor stinks.

...if you expect people to try to do things your way, you're going to have to give some hints as to what that way is.

I am further back, surrounded on all sides by wailing men, their faces shiny with tears. Uncle Al promised three dollars and a bottle of Canadian whiskey to the man who puts on the best show. You've never seen such grief-- even the dogs were howling.

They grew fat and happy--the horses, not the children, or Marlena for that matter.

I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.

It's as though I've been sleepwalking and suddenly woken to find myself here

How hard can it be to find a girl and an elephant for Christ's sake?