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‘So I shall do so. I am a pauper, and as yet I have not discovered how to earn money. “Why don’t you wear your white blouse more often? It is the prettiest shirt you own. It was Martin, she could hear his heart beat. You do not make me afraid like this. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. Well-balanced, sane, wasn’t I? You never heard anyone call me a madman? I’m pretty near being one now, and it’s her fault. Save my seat.
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