The Future Is Not Google-able.

Damien Is A Friend. Their Boy-girl Lego Doesn't Click, He Would Say.

I Think That I've Always Written About Things That Are Very Personal, But Initially, I Coded Everything.

If Ignorance Were Enough To Make Things Not Exist, The World Would Be More Like A Lot Of People Think It Is. But It's Not. And It's Not.

Some People Dote On Contemplating Disasters.

She Knows, Now, Absolutely, Hearing The White Noise That Is London, That Damien's Theory Of Jet Lag Is Correct: That Her Mortal Soul Is Leagues Behind Her, Being Reeled In On Some Ghostly Umbilical Down The Vanished Wake Of The Plane That Brought Her Here, Hundreds Of Thousands Of Feet Above The Atlantic. Souls Can't Move That Quickly, And Are Left Behind, And Must Be Awaited, Upon Arrival, Like Lost Luggage.