It's Still A Memory Worth Having, Even

She Said Writting Novels Was Like Childbirth: If You Truly Remembered How Awful It Got, You'd Never Do It Again.

'so,' He Said As We Turned Onto The Main Road, The Muffler Rattling, 'i've Been Thinking.' 'yeah?' He Nodded. 'you Really Need To Go Out With Me.' I Blinked. 'i'm Sorry?' 'you Know. You, Me. A Restaurant Or Movie. Together.' He Glanced Over, Shifting Gears. 'maybe It's A New Concept For You? If So, I'll Be Happy To Walk You Through It.' 'you Want To Take Me To A Movie?' I Asked. 'well, Not Really,' He Said. 'what I Really Want Is For You To Be My Girlfriend. But I Though Saying That Might Scare You Off.'

The Thing Is, You Can’t Always Have The Best Of Everything. Because For A Life To Be Real, You Need It All: Good And Bad, Beach And Concrete, The Familiar And The Unknown, Big Talkers And Small Towns.

The Lizard Stared Up At Us, And We Stared Back, Taking Each Other In. He Was Little And Defenseless, I Felt Sorry For Him Already. This Was A Screwed-up Place He'd Just Come Into. But He Didn't Have To Know That. Not Yet, Anyway. There In That Room, Where It Was Hot And Cramped, The World Probably Still Seemed Small Enough To Manage.

Says The Girl With No Thyme.