"I thought I could handle it but I fell on my knees near Sydney. Who is Sydney?"
"For them that looked for the way out and found it:
This.
There were holes that grew as doors with looking for
them,
And for those that walked through with their heads
high as kites,
This.
Where were the holes?
In man, in woman, in bottles, in the tattered book
picked up from the mud on the rainy day by the
railway junction.
But the whole of wholes, the holy of holies, where was,
where is
This?"
"I do not want to work here any longer. The people are crude, and the grease slips around their lips as they complain. They'll always complain."
"Florida may have it's palms, and its tropical aurora, but it cannot give me the satisfying warmth of another when the world feels cold."
"Do you think they accept cats in here?"
"I smelled cinnamon brooms today, and wished for snow and the bodily warmth I would feel in layers of cloth. The air is dry and humid, and I'm lonely in my skin exposing clothes. Everything is a dull green that hasn't changed in years, upon years. Everything, that is, except the sea. The sea will always remain as beautiful in colors of blue, green, and beige. blue, green and beige. blue, green and beige."
"I'm alone Florida, and I'm in yellow."
