Pass a compost heap on a shitty old bike. Smells like everything I've ever loved or liked. Smells like August nights at a lover's house, blackberry stains on our hands and mouths. Take a shortcut through the stadium lot. I can see the stars, I can smell the pot. The slue is sluggish and and the kids are bored; Eugene, Eugene, know that you're adored.

I don't think I'd want a whole galaxy; maybe just an asteroid belt. It stayed pretty solid and it felt sublime, but that first kiss made me melt.

I know that it's no longer cool to play truth or dare like we did in school, but I've done all of the dares, I'd probably do them again. And I'll tell you the truth, I mean, you're my friend. You've got to move, you've got to move, or you'll never know just how much you love your home, then you'll be riding south down that interstate and have some weird creepy feeling of your ultimate fate.