What We Are Reluctant To Touch Often

Too Much Has Been Forgotten In The Name Of Memory.

The Smoke Alarm Went Off In The Hallway Upstairs, Either To Let Us Know The Battery Had Just Died Or Because The House Was On Fire.

Fame Requires Every Kind Of Excess. I Mean True Fame, A Devouring Neon, Not The Sombre Renown Of Waning Statesmen Or Chinless Kings.

A Dead Afternoon In A Dark Bar Was Not The Worst Of Fates.

Something Lurked Inside The Truth.