The canker of self-consciousness has been long in me, so like a lot of writers I not only do a thing, I see myself doing it too__t__ almost like not being alone. That morning our hero skipped in his skivvies down to the shore of the sea . . . it was dark . . . the fog . . . Storytelling!

I'm too much of a coward to kill myself. And too much of a coward to live

Mama, I know you used to ride the bus. Riding the bus and it__ hot and bumpy and crowded and too noisy and more than anything in the world you want to get off and the only reason in the world you don__ get off is it__ still fifty blocks from where you__e going? Well, I can get off right now if I want to, because even if I ride fifty more years and get off then, it__ the same place when I step down to it. Whenever I feel like it, I can get off. As soon as I__e had enough, it__ my stop. I__e had enough.

I realize how depraved it was to instill false guilt in an innocent child's conscience, causing a distorted image of life, God, & self, leaving little if any feeling of personal worth.

Oh no!_ replies Monsieur Tuvache indignantly. __e__e not murderers, you know. You have to understand that__ prohibited. We supply what is needed but people do the deed themselves. It__ their affair. We are just here to offer a service by selling quality products,_ continues the shopkeeper, leading the customer towards the checkout.

sometimes life isn__ worth the pain. i__ going for a swim. goodbye, my love.