You chose to gas yourself because . . . ?
Because nothin’ says lovin’ like someone in the oven.
Wasn’t there something we could have done?
Don’t flatter yourself.
Why did you do it?
Because the plum blossoms were falling. Because it was so cold on the Ring of Fire. Because my team lost and because all the pilot would say was that we’d be on the ground shortly. Because my girl left and now there is no here. Because the moonlight went crazy in the bedroom and the sunlight was so loud.
Did you make your peace with God?
No: why should God be the exception?
What can you tell us from the other side?
The bright light is a “No Vacancy” sign, and among those who come to meet you there is no one you were hoping to see—they all still want something, and they are never out of debt.
How do you want to be remembered?
That, I believe, is called begging the question.
Who was that woman dancing in my shower, naked beside me when the roads got dark? What was that sound that woke me every night, and who was the caller who always hung up? Why were the lights on when nobody was home? Why are the plum blossoms always falling?