Andy can speak French. Sorry I underestimated his ability. I think I'm just jealous.

It's days like these that leave me feeling a little empty, like what's it all about, and why do I keep on trying.

The howls are lonesome and isn't that the way it used to be. Out there, all alone, with just a few friends and the seemingly endless black dotted night falling on your skin.

I want to write beautiful prose the words coming together to explain the human condition...it's complexities. Why don't we just do what we feel? What is it that's stopping us?

I'm going to have to dance for my heart and forget that the steps are all about memory. Big chunks, concepts, not small pieces of somebody else's soul.

He was beautiful in that hat, sweating down his back, feeling love through his body and wanting so badly to transmit it to us.