Just one horror story after another,

part horror story, part memoir.

I'm suspicious of their story, ... They are not out of the woods in this one yet.

I write the story that nobody reads. Someday, I'm going to write it in German to see if anyone notices.

I’m haunted. We all are, I guess. We’re parentless, friendless, unloved, abandoned. The spirits of our deceased emotional anchors and proofs of existence will follow and demean us until we too roam a quiet lifeless world alongside them — unable to speak — our histories written in beach sand.

We were always one step behind them because they're nomads.