I don't care about faith. I want to know that there is someplace for me to get to. And I half-act as if there is. And I half-sleep as if there's not.

And outside there is nothing but darkness and the light of office towers guiding me into the weekend, runway lights for planes that never take off.

Isolation has slicked my hands. I can't catch the faces. I sit with my manuscript in an empty field. Someday someone will open a liquor store on the moon. I wait patiently for that day with a suitcase and a ladder.