As I make my way through, I feel okayness reaching through me.
The funny thing is that okayness is not a real word. It's not in the dictionary.
But it's in me.

For a moment, I debated whether I should tell someone about the words I'd started writing down, but I couldn't. In a way, I felt ashamed, even though my writing was the one thing that whispered okayness in my ear. I didn't speak it, to anyone.

Not a beauty queen. Not one of those. You know the ones. She was real.

A couple of them were school beauty-queen pretty while a few were that more real-looking type. A realer kind of pretty.

For me there is no such word as 'luck' in the dictionary.

We don't need a point, son. We're juvenile, we're dirty, we don't have girls, we have noses full of snot, throats sore as hell, we've got scabs on us, we suffer bouts of acne, we've got no girls ... What more reasons do we need?