There’s no safety in the depths of his voice, although he’s saying things that ought to make me feel…secure. I’m just moving along beside him, hoping that we’ll get to someplace with more people. And maybe lights. At least he hasn’t tried to take my hand again. The street is quieter than I’ve ever heard it. Where is everybody? There’s a lot of weird purple cloud over by the playground.
and coming, once again, to the conclusion that: a. it would be uncomfortable for everyone involved. Neil‘s a great-hearted soul, but there’s a limit. And who knows how Amanda Palmer would react! b. if he knew, he would scold me gently that he loves his life and that he also loves mine, and that I am selling myself short as an artist, as a writer, as a singer, as a creative soul. I