A friend of a friend, who I hadn't met, shot himself in the heart with a shotgun in January. I read his notes; the xeroxed blood splatter a vague replica of someone's insides, pain. Reading his suicide notes I felt nothing. Then I felt lost. I wish I could have told him it would be ok if he just sat with me a while and talked. Some things are too big for some people. Atlas is a parable for life.
