He said "Come quickly, I am tasting the stars".
Chef's choice sound wonderful.
You see we may not look like much, but between the three of us, we have five legs , four eyes, two and a half working pairs of lungs, but we also have two dozen eggs, so if I were you i would go back inside.
One of the less bull-shitty conventions of cancer genre is the convention known as "the last good day". When it seems like the inexorable decline has suddenly plateaued, when the pain is, just for a minute, bearable. The problem, of course, is that there is no way of knowing your last good day is your last good day. At the time, it's just another decent day.
pre-funeral
Augustus Waters was a cocky son of a bitch. But we forgave him. Not because of super human good looks or because he 19 years when he should've gotten way more. 18 years buddy. Dude, come on really? I am assuming you have a little more time, you interrupting bastard. Interrupt me in the middle of my eulogy. You are supposed to be dead. But when the scientists from the future come to my house with robot eyes and they tell me to try them on, I am gonna tell those scientists to piss off, because Gus I don't even want to see a world without you.
One the first things they ask you in the ER is to rate your pain on a scale from one to ten. I've been asked this question hundreds of times and I remembered once, when I couldn't catch my breath and I felt like my chest was on fire, the nurse ask me to rate the pain. Though I couldn't speak I held up nine fingers. Later when I started feeling better the nurse came in and she called me a fighter. "You know how I know " she said, "You call a ten nine". But that wasn't the truth, I didn't call it a nine because I was brave. The reason I called it a nine was because I was saving my ten. And this was it. The great and terrible ten.
What a load of shit.
You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, but you do have a say in who hurts you.
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