I sat down and tried to write a story. "Ian MacArthur is a wonderful sweet fellow who wears glasses and peers out of them with delight." That was the first sentence. The problem was that I just couldn't think of the next one. After cleaning my room three times, I decided to leave Ian alone for a while because I was starting to get mad at him.

Maybe it’s sad that these are now memories. And maybe it’s not sad.

I just don't want you to worry about me, or think you've met me, or waste your time anymore.

I walked over to the hill where we used to go and sled. There were a lot of little kids there. I watched them flying. Doing jumps and having races. And I thought that all those little kids are going to grow up someday. And all of those little kids are going to do the things that we do. And they will all kiss someone someday. But for now, sledding is enough. I think it would be great if sledding were always enough, but it isn't.

Patrick started running after the sunset. And Sam immediately followed him. And I saw them in silhouette. Running after the sun.

The radio comes back even louder than you remember it.

Standing on the fringes of life... offers a unique perspective. But there comes a time to see what it looks like from the dance floor.