You Own A Tic Tac. Gum Is

As If He Was Beating Me To The Punch, His Words Living Forever, While I Was Left Speechless, No Rebuttal, No Words Left To Say.

If You Were Dead," Owen Told Her, "you'd Have Bigger Problems Than What You Were Wearing.

Call It Crazy, Or Just Chicken Salad.

I'm Sorry," I Heard Him Say Again. Then, Out Of The Corner Of My Eye, I Saw A Sudden Blur Of Movement As He Slid Out Of His Seat, Left Some Bills For The Breakfast He Wouldn't Eat, And Walked Away. And As He Did, I Thought Again Of Those Mornings In The Hallway At School, Way Back In Ninth Grade. Everything Had Started In Such Sharp Detail, Each Aspect Pronounced And Clear. Obviously, Endings Were Different. Harder To See, Full Of Shapes That Could Be One Thing Or Another, With All The Things That You Were Once So Sure Of Suddenly Not Familiar, If They Were Even Recognizable At All.

Because If You Were The Problem, Chances Were You Could Also Be The Solution. The Only Way To Find Out Was To Take Another Shot.