"All my spheres of logic cannot prevail against you." - Frankie

My eyes are like orbs of red-lashed pain. I suppose it works for me.

If I may be "desolate," might I not also be "isolate"? I cannot be "desolated."

Thus sit we, isolate and surrounded in the sick refracted burn of bony daylight. Only the dead sing for the dead; the living pay them no mind.

If I order, I'll order the same as her, who ordered the same as her precedents, juggling on toward the inevitable beginning--doesn't that feel good?

Hello, do I know your name? I think not, and you know not mine. It grows late, and I suspect that you will tumble into my ink before I can remember your face.