At our table in the corner by the window, huddled around a flame in a red glass, all of us, body to body to body to body. The touch that proves you're not alone, that someone else is there.

There's hundreds of corners on this island, Crystal said. And there are thousands of us. Exiles from the heartland without a heart. Out of the old country, a brand-new tribe, dancing to new tunes around a bucket of fire in a vacant lot.

Weird here is something we aspire to, something we perfect, get degrees in, get awards for.

Looking for who I am is who I am.

She was surprised at how deflating his presence was.

Join the company of lions rather than assume the lead among foxes.