Ryan David Jahn

He pulls the gun away from his head and sets it on the coffee table. He wonders who first called it a coffee table. He gets to his feet and walks into the hallway. He wonders who first called it a highway. He wonder who first named anything. How did someone look at a dog and decide what to call it? It__ all so random. Everything is so goddamn random.

He looks at Mr. Vacanti and the man looks back at him with somehow gentle eyes. It surprises David to see the man has gentle eyes. It surprises him, even at thirty-seven, to discover that monsters can have gentle eyes. Something is terribly wrong with a world where monsters are allowed to have gentle eyes.

Ten minutes ago, Frank though he was going to prison. Now he knows he__ not, and part of him thinks he should just be glad he__ getting out of this at all, but he__ not. He__ not glad. He__ furious. He__ known the world is broken for a long time, he__ known that, but sometimes he__ amazed at how broken; even now, at this point in his life, nearing fifty years old, he can stumble across something that makes him realize all over again that the world is not only broken, but beyond fixing. No amount of glue can ever make it right. And yet, you have to focus on your little part of it, don__ you? You have to focus on your little corner of the world and glue what cracks you can. Otherwise there__ no hope at all.