She Shrieks Above The Din. "if You

The Glow Dies Down, And She's Standing At The End Of My Bed--the One Who's Been Following Me Around Leaving Feather Messages. I Take In The Torn Fishnets, Plaid Mini-kilt, Shiny, Riveted Breastplate With Leather Straps At The Sides And A Worn Great Temolo Decal Near The Left Shoulder. Her Wings Are A Crazy Black-and-white-checkered Pattern, Like They've Been Spray-painted At A Body Shop To Look Like Hipster Sneakers.

I Don't Have Time To Feel Sorry For Myself. I've Got To Think.

In The End, I Take My Shoes Off And Stick My Feet In, Letting The Lukewarm Water Lick At My Ankles. It Feels Good, And Not Just Because I’m Stoned. I Make A Mental Note To Add This To Dulcie’s List Of Things Worth Living For. For Some Reason, I Keep Seeing Her Rolling Her Eyes At Me, That Big, Goofy Grin Stretching Her Face Like Silly Putty. On My Private List, I Add Her Smile. She Doesn’t Have To Know.

What --- You Don't Believe In True Love?" Petra Asked. "the Kind That Can Then Be Parlayed Into Awesome Merchandising Opportunities?" - "beauty Queens

We're All Strangers Connected By What We Reveal, What We Share, What We Take Away--our Stories. I Guess That's What I Love About Books--they Are Thin Strands Of Humanity That Tether Us To One Another For A Small Bit Of Time, That Make Us Feel Less Alone Or Even More Comfortable With Our Aloneness, If Need Be.