[text ID: the boy in the sweatshirt, the boy on the bridge, the boy who always keeps me from jumping off the bridge. / I don’t really blame you for being dead but you can’t have your sweater back. /end ID]
[text ID: We pull our boots on with both hands but we can’t punch ourselves awake and all I can do is stand on the curb and say Sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine. /end ID]
[text ID: Let’s jump ahead to the moment of epiphany, in gold light, as the camera pans to where the action is, lakeside and backlit, and it all falls into frame, close enough to see the blue rings of my eyes as I say something ugly. /end ID]
