The why question is always the most complicated.

Underneath their skin and bones, some people, rare people, thank God, just have black holes. They’re born that way, but there’s no getting at it. No changing its mind. The black hole rules until the host is dead.

Big, big tragedies just simply come down to “car access” in the end, it seems.

Life’s a curveball, b**ch.

You don’t need to worry, Ma. I’m taking care of us in that basement.