Maybe we're grass—our roots so interdependent that no one is dead as long as someone is still alive.

“If I could do it all over again," he said, his speech slow and vaguely mangled …”

“Given the final futility of our struggle, is the fleeting jolt of meaning that …”

“His hand reached for her boob over her shirt and pawed at it, his palm still wh…”

“Before any of it could make sense, it had to be heard.”