This morning I refused. After all, I'd never been the Prince, and you'd never been the Pauper, and we'd never switched places. My alleys aren't yours, and the shadows of your runways are unfriendly cats. I don't think we've ever understood. Religion is a broken necklace between the two of us, strung up with beads of hypocrisy; and you call me an atheist, and I call you swine. That's fine, but unsatisfactory in the seventh degree, just to let you know. (Not that you'd ever.) We're getting nowhere, but that's fine, too, because I love this wrecked scenery and so do you (deep down). I'm wracking my brain for reasons to continue this fight even though it kills me, and you always seem to spell out why with your bifocal lashes and purple sweaters, square jaw and too-righteous fury.


Uncompromising views. Actually "inspired" by a fight my parents had. Hmm.