Life Is Like A Moustache. It Can

Phillip Look Into Ray's Eyes. He Saw Compassion And Hope. And He Saw Himself Mirrored Back, Bleeding In A Dirty Gutter On A Street Where Life Was Worth Less Than A Dime Bag. Sick, Tired, Petrified, Phillip Dropped His Head Into His Hands. "what's The Point?" "you're The Point, Son." Ray Ran His Hand Over Phillip's Hair. "you're The Point.

Shannon: Only The Living Suffered. Only They Were Riddled With Guilt And Regret And Unanswered Questions.

The Outward Appearance Would Never Indicate They Were Brothers. (...) But She Could See That At The Moment They Were As United As Triplets In The Womb.

She Surrounded Herself With Books At Work And At Home. Her Living Space Was A Testament To Her First And Abiding Love With Shelves Jammed With Books Tables Crowded With Them. She Saw Them Not Only As Knowledge Entertainment Comfort Even Sanity But As A Kind Of Artful Decoration.

And Each Book Has To Receive Your Best Effort Every Single Time. No Slacking.