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272 pages, Hardcover
First published January 12, 2016
How is truth defined? I wrote this down. I put a star beside this. I underlined this. I traced the ink lines of my words on the page. When I first went to Brooklyn, I wanted the red star tattoo that some of the old timers like Rena had. Sitting in the classroom I wanted it more than ever. I wanted some proof of where I'd been, proof it all happened. If not the truth, then at least this. Evidence. A testament to my faith, a scar to remember it by.
In the darkness of his office, I thought about the thousand different ways there were not to be strong enough. You could want things, like music or your own underwear or to hug a dying relative goodbye one last time. You could daydream about things, like taking a bath or spending a day alone or kissing somebody. You could remember people you loved or the life you had. You could forget why you were here, what you were working for. You could try and sleep all day, or not be able to sleep at night. There were a thousand different ways to be weak. But the only way to be strong was to stay.