The air is a perfect 80 degrees. Winter is over. The people around us are musing, eternally, how much of their lives they’ve spent sitting in cars.

Science saved my life, but it didn’t make me want to live. I stay wrapped up in blankets. But it’s like Frank says, If we could fly, the world would have no end.

A quantifiable attraction described as magic. Like Charles Bukowski in Factotum, “I kiss her. She answers with her tongue. Women are magic.”

The rain bites through my coat and makes me shiver. A few cars roll past me on the street, tires squealing in the cold air. This is my neighborhood.

From spending nights in a warm bed downtown to sleeping alone on a futon, one never knows what the end of a relationship will bring.

Everyone feels nostalgic about their childhood from time to time. We all have stories that stick out in our memories. Some stories stick out more than others.