“Betwixt and betwizzled, I ‘twas! Caught somewhere between now and then, the sun and the rain, contentment and the other thing, joy and its absence, hate and damnation, and all the other things, dispossessed of outcomes and ends but furnished in folly by the haunting anxiety that precedes their inevitable deliverance, it wraps against the chest beat beat beat demanding attention, beat beat beat, demanding to be indulged, beat beat beat, until finally goddammit finally you say the thing and the thing is a question, will you die alone?”
—an orphan I served gruel to when I was volunteering at the shelter.