Apparently no one except myself and Diana, and possibly Alex, get my layout. There's nothing to get. Cretins. A little boy spent the night in my sister's flower-print bed. Shane, he played Playstation for hours and then finally collapsed into sleep. He went to sleep after I did. I feel old. Decrepit. The reason he is here is that his father is at work. At a bar. As a bouncer. This eight-year-old is amazing by default. I should be getting ready to go out with my father, but instead I'm thinking about bars and how she used to sneak out and go to them in the middle of the night. Only order water because she had no money. Car washes. Speakerphone, and the fact that besides for every voice's metallic edge you can close your eyes and that person is almost there. "Shane, your dad's on the phone. He wants you back." The kind of power ownership entails. I'd own her, sign the papers, lock the locks if I could, if it meant I could summon her back with a ten-digit command. You too, maybe more, but I doubt you'd come as quietly. Good lord, good lord, The one I adore and I cannot afford Is a ghost.