I couldn’t hear if the other men present said anything or whether they laughed; I was deaf to everything except the pulsing roar in my head.
Burying my religion to sell a novel? That’s bad faith—or no faith at all.
I find the board bearing the bright bloom of my blood and push the splinter into place.
My thirst for water brought me to him.
What passions rage in my heart, is that what you mean?
