There's nothing special about this place, he thinks. We all forget. Then we forget what we forgot. And that's how we survive.

[She] sees. She knows. She understands. About evil, or whatever you care to name it. It comes. It's relentless. It doesn't care if you forgot it. It searches, and it finds you, and it arrives on your doorstep one day, and it lights up a screen, it calls you by your real name, it smiles at you, it says hello, it eyes your son and promises to take him home.

So strange don't you think? To ascend to such a high position in your lifetime and then be totally forgotten? I mean, who even remembers Schuyler Colfax? Or John C. Breckinridge?'
'The history boooks do.

We've got to look ahead now. We win on Tuesday and win on Saturday, we'll forget about this loss.

Sauve qui peut. To survive
we’d all turn thief

and rascal, or so says the fox,
with her coat of an elegant scoundrel,
her white knife of a smile,
who knows just where she’s going:

to steal something
that doesn’t belong to her -
some chicken, or one more chance,
or other life.

It was like trying to recall a forgotten dream—each time I felt close to remembering where we’d met, the memories slipped away.