"It’s really not so bad until you realize, one dark evening, one black Irish night when the fairies are swooning in a mescaline haze, one night when a certain heat overcomes the walls of the womb and your left hand, your tiny left hand, your little pin speck of dust in the Milky May, begins its regular three A.M stretch and you feel…it. Tiny, and so small, you're not even sure it's there.

But, needless to say, there it is."