I like sounds. [agrees, sticking his nose in the other boy's hair and breathing it in, then blowing through it like a friendly horse] And smells. And colors. All of that is a motherfuckin' miracle. That we can walk through the whole wide world and it all comes in to us in all these different ways, and then we make it into a thought or a remebering and we stick it up in our pan and it gets to stay there.

And we make people into rememberings, too, for when they ain't there. And it's like all putting more paint in the picture every time you see them. How did our sponges know how to do that? How did I be knowing you fit with me, how did my pan wrap around you? Motherfuckin' miracles! Best thing there ever be. [He nestled his face right up against the other boy's neck then, grinning in utter bliss.]