My Mother Is The War,' Declares Roger

For Every Kind Of Vampire, There Is A Kind Of Cross

He Decided That We Suffer From Great Temporal Homesickness For The Decade We Were Born In.

But On The Way Home Tonight, You Wish You'd Picked Him Up, Held Him A Bit. Just Held Him, Very Close To Your Heart, His Cheek By The Hollow Of Your Shoulder, Full Of Sleep. As It It Were You Who Could, Somehow, Save Him. For The Moment Not Caring Who You're Supposed To Be Registered As. For The Moment, Anyway, No Longer Who The Caesars Say You Are.

This Is America, You Live In It, You Let It Happen. Let It Unfurl.

But With A Sigh He Had Released Her Hand, While She Was So Lost In The Fantasy That She Hadn't Felt It Go Away, As If He'd Known The Best Moment To Let Go.