Paul waits for Blake Biegler in the dusty field behind the school. Biegler is ten minutes late. He pokes his fingers through the chainlink, staring beyond the suicide barriers toward Golden Lakes. The ... [+]
I am a fish with scales instead of years.
I am a snail, body curled in a shell,
Born again every day
From orange and pink dust.
I breathe underwater
I tread on land
I can go days without food
Or change my name to Gluttony,
and the current will still take me on
and on,
and on,
and on,
until the end of time.