But What Was The Point Of Living

Hey,” The Cabbie Yelled. “how’s About A Tip?” “you Bet-ski,” Evie Said, Heading Toward The Old Victorian Mansion, Her Long Silk Scarf Trailing Behind Her. “don’t Kiss Strange Men In Penn Station.

In A World Beyond This One, That River Goes On Singing Sweetly, Enchanting Us With What We Want To Hear, Shaping What We Need To See In Order To Keep Going. In Those Waters, All Disappointments Are Forgotten, Our Mistakes Forgiven. Gazing Into Them, We See A Strong Father. A Loving Mother. Warm Rooms Where We Are Sheltered, Adored, Wanted. And The Uncertainty Of Our Futures Is Nothing More Than The Fog Of Breath On A Windowpane.

We're Like Pretty Horses, And Just As On Horses, They Mean To Put Blinders On Us So We Can't Look Left Or Right But Only Straight Ahead Where They Would Lead.

There Were Few Things Worse Than Being Ordinary, In Evie’s Opinion. Ordinary Was For Suckers.

We're Comfortable With Women In Certain Roles But Not Comfortable With Women Expressing Anger Or Fully Accepting Their Power. The Most Daring Question A Woman Can Ask Is, 'what Do I Want?'