In case of a fire, I suppose that I would try to just gather up all my memories. My favorite stuff, I've given away. Oh, I've got more stuff. Lots more. Memories, though, I've got a whole bunch of them. I try to share them, but at a certain point in life, you're just one more old guy talking about the past.
Just when I start to worry that maybe I've written all of my stories down, new ones come flooding in. Maybe I should worry more about making new ones.
If you tell a story that doesn't end in loss, you haven't finished the story, pal.
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