Somehow it is warmer outside than inside, or maybe I'm just shaking so much
that I can't tell the difference. I have never felt like this before, like my
entire past is being erased, like I'm not a person. Every Saturday drive out
to Los Angeles, to my grandmother's house, every day spent in the dark, wine
carpeted womb of her bowling alley, every family meal that ended up in a fight
between me and my brother, every walk down to the old church to catch ladybugs
in jars, every braid worn in stubborn protest, every silly junior high school
crush, band concert, bad haircut, tie dye T-shirt, every Jame Taylor concert, 
every bar my sister dolled me up for and snuck me into, every warm, wet, smoggy
Los Angeles night, every cool, clean New England autumn, all the new thoughts
and ideas awakened by this small college, every best friend, every joint and
bong hit ever smoked, every step of independance and discovery has been taken
away from me, transformed, vaporized and caught in the shell of a bullet,
lodged in Galen's heart, mingling with the blood on the library floor, staining
the carpet around his body. I am empty now, completely and inalterably hollow.