...my Conscience Has The Same Hard Reality

Whatever Made Me The Way I Am Left Me Hollow, Empty Inside, Unable To Feel. It Doesn't Seem Like A Big Deal. I'm Quite Sure Most People Fake An Awful Lot Of Everyday Human Contact. I Just Fake It All. I Fake It Very Well, And The Feelings Are Never There.

And Then More Quiet, Silence So Deep It Almost Drowned Out The Roar Of The Night Music That Pounded Away In My Secret Self.

I Am Not Shy About Admitting My Modest Talents. For Example, I Am Happy To Admit That I Am Better Than Average At Clever Remarks, And I Also Have A Flair For Getting People To Like Me. But To Be Perfectly Fair To Myself, I Am Ever-ready To Confess My Shortcomings, Too, And A Quick Round Of Soul-searching Forced Me To Admit That I Had Never Been Any Good At All At Breathing Water. As I Hung There From The Seat Belt, Dazed And Watching The Water Pour In And Swirl Around My Head, This Began To Seem Like A Very Large Character Flaw.

What Do You Want A Clock For?” “to Find Out What Time It Is,” I Said. “i Think That’s The Usual Purpose.

I Let It Ring. I Wanted To Breathe For A Few Minutes, And I Could Think Of Nothing That Couldn't Wait. Besides, I Had Paid Almost $50 For An Answering Machine. Let It Earn Its Keep.