It's weird. Nice, because as fucked-up as this place is, it's where I found people who actually understand me, and care about me even though they ain't Millers, but weird.

I thought about staying, y'know. I coulda gotten a little apartment an' kept m' job an' probably ain't ever had t' worry about money or if I was gonna be able t' eat or Marti's family ever again. I coulda put down roots and been a Townie, maybe even gone t' one of th' community colleges if'n I was smart about my money, an' maybe not missed m' friends so much. I coulda tried for 'normal.' I coulda pretended for a little longer.

Each visit is a reminder that yeah, that mighta been nice for a bit, but it ain't me. It's too small, too quiet, too stationary, an' even if I managed 'normal' for a bit, it ain't ever gonna stick because 'm in a race I can't win. M' hourglass is running out.

Because th' ocean is insistent, an' blocking it out gets harder and harder, it's louder, easier to hear, especially here with so much water everywhere. So each visit back here is also a twist of the knife, because it's waiting and 'm eventually gonna lose. 'M gonna lose all this, all memory of it, an' I don't wanna.

So. Yeah. Weird.