We’re living in squalor That’s the name of this house This house is called squalor by all There’s a door broken somewhere but I never can remember quite where.

Why should I love this Gentleman? Tis odds / He never will affect me;

It's been a week since I stopped injecting, and I'm still in withdrawal.

One of my neighbors, a crusty, lifelong Juneauite, informed me with a sardonic leer that the first time the wolf stepped on his property—a scant hundred yards from one of the Romeo's favored trails—would be the last.