she had leaned up against me as we gazed upon the ancient, twinkling lights painted on the inky blue backdrop of infinity just for us, and I wondered if anyone ever really spent the time to look at the beauty of the stars anymore, and if her hair was always this soft, and why the night smelled of dust and moonbeams, and if I would be hit by a passenger train like my mother was, and if I did would it even matter at all and what happens to the worlds inside your head when you die and if those people are real with dreams and lives and lives of their own and if God was an author and if he was what would that make me and if the lake was deep enough to-- then she kissed me. I didn't wonder anything at all.
the last man in cleveland