“You don’t understand,” getting mad. “You guys, you’re like Puritans are about the Bible. So hung up with words, words. You know where that play exists, not in that file cabinet, not in any paperback you’re looking for, but—” a hand emerged from the veil of shower-steam to indicate his suspended head—“in here. That’s what I’m for. To give the spirit flesh. The words, who cares? They’re rote noises to hold line bashes with, to get past the bone barrier around an actor’s memory, right? But the reality is in this head. Mine. I’m the projector at the planetarium, all the closed little universe visible in the circle of that stage is coming out of my mouth, eyes, sometimes other orifices also.”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said to you the entire time we were together? You’re my whole world Layla. You hold my universe in your hand and no matter where I go, who I’m with or what I’m doing, you are right there with me. Here.”

“You look…” he shook his head looking her up and down, “You look delicious. If I don’t get you out of here, I’m going to devour you like it’s my birthday, and you’re my cake.”

“Simon looked from one of them to the other, and shook his head. “ When did you two get so buddy-buddy? Last night it was all, ‘I’m the most elite warrior!’ ‘ No, I’m the most elite warrior!’ And today you’re playing Halo and giving each other props for good ideas.”

“You’re good with the words, I’ll give you that.”“I’m good with my hands. Will you let me give you that?”

“They’re never going to change. You gotta get that into your head. What they did up there? They’ll keep doing that forever. You know why? Because they’re withholders. That’s what power is all about. Not giving people what they want. So you know what that means? It means you’ve got to stop wanting. Stop wanting them to love you, or be proud of you, or whatever it is you’re after. ’Cause you’re not gonna get it.”