If It Wasn't For That

He'd be a lot different if it wasn't for that.

Because he believed the actions of the outside affect the actions of the inside.

He brooded upon it, often at night, when he was alone and he couldn't sleep, as he smoked cigarette after cigarette.

He thought about it as it stood in the middle of his mindscape.

And his thoughts about it were under the mindscape like a paved-over river that flowed through a city, and it was in his mindscape like a fog. it was always in and on his mind and thoughts. It just wouldn't go away by itself, and he couldn't push it away.

And just what was it, exactly?

He couldn't say for sure, because if he brought it to the front of his mind, it overwhelmed him and stop him from speaks. It felt as if his blood had been replaced by quick-drying cement.

But can we -- that is, you and I -- talk about it?

Sure. I know what it was. And I know you want to know about it. But if I told you now, then we wouldn't have much of a story left, would we?

What it was.

What it was.

What it was.