Sometimes I think creativity can only be released when you’re so goddamned bored there’s nothing else to do.
It’s easy to spot hypocrisy in others, not so easy to spot it in oneself.
As I open each envelope, the ancient rubber bands holding it together fall into little worms at my feet.
Even our patrol leaders snickered like third graders over the evil-genius initiation rites that we would subject the newcomers to on Frog Island.
At this point, I can't identify every place where truth ends and invention begins.
