And I wonder if anyone is really happy. I hope they are. I really hope they are.

As I was walking up the stairs to dad's old room, and I was looking at the photographs, I started thinking that there was a time when these weren't memories. That someone actually took the photograph, and the people in the photograph had just eaten lunch or something.

Do you think if people knew how crazy you really were, no one would ever talk to you?

There's nothing like deep breaths after laughing that hard. Nothing in the world like a sore stomach for the right reasons.

I wonder what my speech would be.

The inside jokes weren't jokes anymore. They had become stories. Nobody brought up the bad names or the bad times. And nobody felt sad as long as we could postpone tomorrow with more nostalgia.

Not everyone has a sob story, Charlie, and even if they do, it's no excuse.