No One Is Drawn To Writing About

... Her Taste In Music Haunted My Memory And I Had To Stop At Tower Records On The Upper West Side To Buy Ninety Dollars' Worth Of Rap Cds But, As Expected, I'm At A Loss: [...] Voices Uttering Ugly Words Like Digit, Pudding, Chunk.

I Stare Into A Thin, Web-like Crack Above The Urinal's Handle And Think To Myself That If I Were To Disappear Into That Crack, Say Somehow Miniaturize And Slip Into It, The Odds Are Good That No One Would Notice I Was Gone. No... One... Would... Care. In Fact Some, If They Noticed My Absence, Might Feel An Odd, Indefinable Sense Of Relief. This Is True: The World Is Better Off With Some People Gone. Our Lives Are Not All Interconnected. That Theory Is Crock. Some People Truly Do Not Need To Be Here.

Why Was I Holding On To Something That Would Never Be Mine? But Isn't That What People Do?

And Though The Coldness I Have Always Felt Leaves Me, The Numbness Doesn't And Probably Never Will. This Relationship Will Probably Lead To Nothing... This Didn't Change Anything. I Imagine Her Smelling Clean, Like Tea.

Writing A Novel That Works Is An Extremely Difficult Thing To Do. It Requires A Level Of Skill And Dedication That Always Surprises Me.