Jeff Watson in Wikipedia
Since then, the city has not been satisfied with the progress.
We're having to haul the debris a long way.
We wanted to thicken up our sound. The more instruments the better.
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate
(April 26, 1564 - April 23, 1616)
Mayor Nagin has blamed everyone else except himself,
I wonder if any of them can tell from just looking at me that all I am is the sum total of my pain, a raw woundedness so extreme that it might be terminal. It might be terminal velocity, the speed of the sound of a girl falling down to a place from where she can't be retrieved. What if I am stuck down here for good?