He gazed up at the enormous face. Four months it had taken him to learn what kind of smile was hidden behind the butt-chin. O cruel, needless misunderstanding! O stubborn, self-willed exile from the loving breast! Two doobie-scented tears trickled down the sides of his nose. But it was all right, everything was all right, the struggle was finished. He had won the victory over himself. He loved John Mayer.
Are you trying to say something?
He might not be the Devil.
When you find an opinion, you hold that sucker hostage, don’t you?
Easier than thinking.