He uses proper punctuation. Capitalizes the beginning of each sentence.

I smile, because if it’s not exactly a joke, it is sort of related to one.

David Drucker has a theory about my metaphorical radio waves.

Instead of trying to watch it happen differently, why don’t you try to not watch it at all?

I convince myself that I am having fun playing big lawyer in the big city-working all hours, surrounded by a ringing phone and day-old pizza crust. That I am reveling in this life of a caricature. But that would be a lie, because the truth is that I don’t really feel much of anything at all. Just a dull ache around my edges.

Turns out grief not only morphs time, but space too. Somehow increases the distance between you and other people.

All the tattoos I would get if I were the sort of person who had the nerve to get tattoos, which I am decidedly not. Instead, I’m the kind of person who has spent hours debating said theoretical tattoos, despite my crippling fears of both needles and long-term commitment.

Exactly, You get it. I am who I am, whoever that may be now.

I want us to do a series of interviews with my grandmother and record some of her best stories and memories before they all get eaten up by her dementia. I want to literally make them into tangible things. Do you think you can help me?

How’s things, buddy?” Trey asks after we run through a few finger-warming exercises. I realize this is what people call small talk. I also realize the world would be a better place without it.