All of us have a place in history. Mine is clouds. - Richard Brautigan

Forsaken, fucking in the cold, eating each other, lost runny noses, complaining all the time like so many people that we know

Everything smelled of sheep. The dandelions were suddenly more sheep than flower, each petal reflecting wool and the sound of a bell ringing off the yellow. But the thing that smelled the most like sheep, was the sun itself. When the sun went behind a cloud, the smell of sheep decreased, like standing on some old guy's hearing aid, and when the sun came back again, the smell of the sheep was loud, like a clap of thunder inside a cup of coffee.

Everybody wants to go to bed with everybody else, they're lined up for blocks, so I'll go to bed with you. They won't miss us.