Left to my own devices I... don't leave me to my own devices, okay? My sleepy eyes could use a cold hand to lay across them, and for the first time in recent history, my hands are warm.

Timothy's subtitles are changing too fast. And they aren't always loveable. We used to be best friends, years ago, and we're getting reacquainted again, but he moves too quickly for me, sometimes.

Once, for a while, I was a vandal. I wrote on bathroom walls in bars, but only on walls that were covered in writing already. I wrote a sentence that I'd read somewhere once, that seemed truer then than anything I'd ever read before. And so obvious, but... it hadn't really occurred to me before. The other night, in a particular bar, I came across it. And, possibly not for the first time, I smiled warmly at a wall...

Sometimes he calls and asks, "What are you doing?" and I say, "Everything," and I can hear his smile through the phone...