Writing my novel, I left the hardest scene for last, and there's nothing left for it now except to write it, or give up.
I doubt it could have turned out any other way.
Time narrows to a point, specifically my mother's right pupil on lithium-stelazine-mellaril and I can say with complete confidence that the gimlet gleam in her eye has nothing whatsoever to do with me.
Still I need a paragraph, another hundred words...
