Good Men Are Often More

Willie Said Normal Was Boring And That I Should Be Grateful That I Had A Touch Of Spice. She Said No One Cared About Boring People, And When They Died, They Were Forgotten, Like Something That Slips Behind The Dresser.

We All Laced Together—a Brothel Madam, An English Professor, A Mute Cook, A Quadroon Cabbie, And Me, The Girl Carrying A Bucket Of Lies And Throwing Them Like Confetti.

Tragedy Was A Big Social Event, And Everyone Wanted In On It.

You Like Me, Josie Moraine. You Just Don't Know It Yet.

People I Didn't Know Formed A Circle Around Me, Sheltering Me From View. They Escorted Me Safely Back To Our Jurta, Undetected. They Didn't Ask For Anything. They Were Happy To Help Someone, To Succeed At Something, Even If They Weren't To Benefit. We'd Been Trying To Touch The Sky From The Bottom Of The Ocean. I Realized That If We Boosted One Another, Maybe We'd Get A Little Closer.