"I worry about the other guys’ feelings when we roll up to a club and see ‘Conor Oberst of Bright Eyes’ printed on the posters in letters just as big as ‘Desaparecidos."
I tried talking, just whispered, “…so sorry…so selfish…” He stopped me and said, “Child I love you regardless and there’s nothing you could do that would ever change this. I’m not angry. It happens. But you just can’t do it again.”
"You better fucking make a move while you got a chance. Because it’s not going to wait around for you to get comfortable with the idea of your mortality. You better just bust out the machete and start chopping through this shit and heading in some direction."