I Have Graham Greene's Telephone Number, But

The Justice I Have Received, I Shall Give Back.

The Night Was A Time For Bestial Affinities, For Drawing Closer To Oneself.

January. It Was All Things. And It Was One Thing, Like A Solid Door. Its Cold Sealed The City In A Gray Capsule. January Was Moments, And January Was A Year. January Rained The Moments Down, And Froze Them In Her Memory: [...]every Human Action Seemed To Yield A Magic. January Was A Two-faced Month, Jangling Like Jester's Bells, Crackling Like Snow Crust, Pure As Any Beginning, Grim As An Old Man, Mysteriously Familiar Yet Unknown, Like A Word One Can Almost But Not Quite Define.

I Have Graham Greene's Telephone Number, But I Wouldn't Dream Of Using It. I Don't Seek Out Writers Because We All Want To Be Alone.

One Situation – Maybe One Alone – Could Drive Me To Murder: Family Life, Togetherness.