He tilted his head to the side, still watching me in that same, disconcerting way. some things are true, drunk or sober. you should know that. you deal in facts all the time. yeah, but this isn’t— i couldn’t argue with him looking at me like that. i have to go. wait… you didn’t take the cross. i held it out to him. he shook his head. keep it. i think i’ve got something else to help center my life.
And now sometimes i'm interviewed, they want to hear about life and literature and i get drunk and hold up my cross-eyed, shot, runover de-tailed cat and i say,"look, look at this!" but they don't understand, they say something like,"you say you've been influenced by celine?" no," i hold the cat up,"by what happens, by things like this, by this, by this!
Bella, i've already expended a great deal of personal effort at this point to keep you alive. i'm not about to let you behind the wheel of a vehicle when you can't even walk straight. besides, friends don't let friends drive drunk, he quoted with a chuckle. i could smell the unbearably sweet fragrance coming off his chest. drunk? i objected. you're intoxicated by my very presence. he was grinning that playful smirk again.
Whats here a cup closed in my true loves hand poisin i see hath been his timeless end. Oh churl drunk all and left no friendly drop to help me after. I will kiss thy lips some poisin doth hang on them, to help me die with a restorative. Thy lips are warm. Yea noise then ill be brief oh happy dagger this is thy sheath. There rust and let me die.