I'm going to focus on this for a couple of minutes. Then I am going to resume my pre-game, get gussied up, blare Phil Collins' "Don't Lose My Number" and then hit the town. Yep.
B looked over at me as she read.
My eyebrows were raised.
"You don't think..."
I quickly hushed the thought. "No, I really don't think so."
It isn't, is it?
Can't be. Why would it be?
Nope.
So, if not, why did I feel badly as we walked down the street?
And, likewise, why did I feel a bit of indignation fire up within me? Because if it is...
Nah.
Related: a quote from "Candy Freak," the book Beth is reading. By Steve Almond.
Art is what happens when things don't work out, when you're licking your wounds. Art is, to a larger extent than people would like to think, a productive licking of the wounds.
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