I lift my head up and touch the bumper, with my hands all shredded up from going under the machine. Kate came to drive me to the hospital. I told her not to bother at all. Two weeks later, we're in New Orleans with a percolater and a bag of coffee beans. I tell her about the way I feel. She says it's based on nothing real. She said, "Take a look at what you say, it is so obviously bullshit. The truth comes from inside and what you put it on is makeshift. Your body could be strong, but you don't care enough to make it. There's something wrong inside, and everything's related. And if you want to try to believe, I'm the only proof you need. I've explored the places you are and I know you can return. Please take my word. Please? Take my word." I felt all weakened. This is more than she should take. I'm always freaking and making these stupid mistakes. Kate responds all optimistically. She contends that there is something good in me. I tried to argue and show what she's sustained. She reviewed it and said, "Let's stop comparing our pain. Let's just try and like ourselves tonight and take care of each other at times like this." chorus. Because you know I hate this now, and you know I can't see a way out. I want to change this, but I can't erase it. I want to change this now, I want to change it, and if you want to try to believe, I'm the only proof you need.