I think it is time.

This is New York City. Last night we broke down. I said what had to be said. I finally pointed to the cracks in the wall, the ripped carpet, the dripping faucet, bottles in the sink and said, " This is a most tragic thing, what I changed into."

I suspect to atone. So much love I have to have only responsibility.

There is nothing to do. Just tressure a San Fransisco sun rise, which was not that long and shrouded in fog.