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Chapter 21 was beautiful.

Pg. 138 Live, die, love, don’t love; it was all so arbitrary and random that the unfairness and unpredictability of it took my breath away.

Again I loathed myself for choices I had made, things I said, and things I didn’t say.

Pg. 1
At my age, reading obituaries as a generational hazard, contemporary, dropping off, one by one; each announcement an empty chamber in my own little revolver.