At closing time we patched our wounds, finished our drinks and headed into the summer night.

His last words were, does fish sauce go in the refrigerator, but she didn’t hear them. She was in the shower.

Thirty years of thinking have emptied you out. Finally, you know nothing.

Sunday morning: half dead but fully alive.

Stock characters:
1) man with gangrenous wound.

Beneath the rage, fear
Beneath the fear, sadness
Beneath the sadness, love

“a large but uncertain quantity of discrete, mostly undated texts left in no sequential order, such that every published edition is necessarily untrue to the nonexistent ‘original.’”