I Love To Write And I Assure

People Never Believe You.

Or You'd Just Passed By One Of Those Puddles In The Street With Gasoline Rainbows In Them. I Mean You'd Be Different In Some Way—i Can't Explain What I Mean. And Even If I Could, I'm Not Sure I'd Feel Like It.

That's Something That Annoys The Hell Out Of Me-i Mean If Somebody Says The Coffee's All Ready And It Isn't.

God, How I Still Love Private Readers. It’s What We All Used To Be.

She Was There, And She Was The Whole City, And That’s That.