“Perhaps I was also afraid the little voice in the back of my head telling me I had no idea what I was doing was right. I didn’t have any idea what I was doing; if I had, things would be different now. Although, thoughts like this led the other little voice inside my head to point out if I wasn’t here, or if I didn’t know what I was doing, Martin would be a chalk outline of some goo on the pavement. I sighed audibly and put my head on my desk. If only all the voices in my head could just get along. I laughed at the absurdity. I must be clinically insane.”