Maybe instead of strings it's stories things are made of, an infinite number of tiny vibrating stories; once upon a time they all were part of one big giant superstore, except it got broken up into a million different pieces, that's why no story on its own makes any sense, and so what you have to do in a life is try and weave it back together, my story into your story, our stories into all the other people we know, until you've got something that to God or whoever might look like a letter, or even a whole word....

Skippy Dies