I had my own slice of heaven tonight. It was sitting with my lady, on her futon, just knowing she was there, just knowing that somehow I got extremely lucky. It was a piece of pumpkin pie with a huge mound of that whipped cream in a can. It's knowing that my world outside of York Hall, outside of my heart, just doesn't exist, sometimes. But, the funny thing about slices of pie, slices of anything, is that you can't make it last forever. You only get one piece at a time, and eventually, you have to finish it. And, unfortunately, I put down my fork a long time ago. In the morning, comes doing the dirty dishes.