Reading Roald Dahl books on the floor. A girl
from school to think about. The phone in the kitchen rings, but
it's someone for Mom. Summers were long and boring, and we
had to wait, and all of it was magic.
I
think it was mostly truth I was after. I know now that truth is a
troubling thing. You can't drink your way to it. You
can't snort your way to it. You can't f.uck your way to it.
You can't cheat your way to it. You can't love your way
to it. You can only let it envelop you and try to make sense of
it all.