Sad, sad movies in which the girl gets the diagnosis, the dog saves his boy, or the dead romantic sinks to the ocean floor, and he’s as blue and cold as anyone’s ever been

Morning bus rides from home to not home

Any mall for more than fifteen minutes, with its exhausting fluorescence, overpriced imports, and security personnel profiling the young and un-white

The radiator’s screaming, dry heat as it settles like baby powder in my airways

The memorable dream about the old man and all that he needs from me and that he’ll die when I wake up, unless, perish the thought, he recurs

Orange-flavored candies, the kind that aren’t fooling anybody’s taste buds

Watching someone I love cough in bed, their eyes red and searching for sleep

Impersonations of Bale’s Batman that I wouldn’t dare perform for anyone living outside of Bathroom Mirror, USA

The impossibility of keeping my un-tuned mouth shut during my favorite bands’ shows

The phrase, “the end of an era”, even when I say it

Sugary touchdown shots at a dive bar during football season

The clock in every corner of every room that ticks my mother’s minutes, my father’s working memory, and my brother’s last chances away

Wrong-tube sandwich bites

All the bad -isms that I’ve heard co-workers and television deny the existence of

The days after the nights spent sleeping head first in the traditionally ass-first toilet bowl

The part when Peter has to fly back home alone, the only boy still lost

The happiest days of my life, both as they happen and as they are kept, catalogued neatly in my mind

Staying up late to write out a list of things that make my throat hurt