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I sensed that a name defined who I was and would be in the future.

We didn’t think of ourselves as anything so grand as sex workers.

Love is the difference between a full life and an empty one.

I don’t own a smartphone and never will. I’ve never sent a text.

Art doesn’t conform to a capitalist’s ratio of productivity to time.

I wish I would have become a fiction reader and writer much sooner.

I like to think of love as something that one should keep feeding, like a fire.

In real life, my favorite character, so to speak, is Ruth Bader Ginsburg.

A friend of my father’s once told me, “You’ll never be a writer.”

My grandmother read one of my early stories and warned—don’t force your muse.

The dope worked, though he felt ashamed using it, smoked in secret.

Toe over toe we went, arms held out like tightrope walkers.

The phone rang at an awkward hour, too late at night to be good news.

The notes must be crying inside me falling from their proper octaves.

I promised to return, but secretly I dreamed of staying in America.

My mother was dead. Almost a month she was dead, killed by me.

She knew Jim would be a terrible husband. They’d murder each other.

If he was going to pick me up, the least he could do was look at me.

The graffiti suggests the most essential story of New Haven.

A finger on the bell, a quick sprint on light feet, and then stifled laughter.

I hang there, upside down, watching Bronwyn, her face beatific.

Even then (Colin remembers now), it felt like the end of something.

He had seduced them with his sincerity for truth-seeking.

Insomnia! There is a sickly romance to the affliction—initially.

Isn’t Nightshade sad, people said; isn’t he pathetic; isn’t he hideous.

She had not anticipated that the nightstands would be an issue.

Your jumps are numbered. It is better to be a bird without altitude.

Here’s the world, sweetheart. One word as small & large as a father.

I’ll leave a trail of crumbs as I descend into god knows where.