Giving and Getting (Blog #308)

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Currently it’s six in the evening, and I’ve been at the library for a few hours working on marketing and such for the swing dance event. I love everything I’m doing and learning but am officially done working for the day. Still, I can’t get it off my mind.

Some of the books I’ve been reading about marketing focus strongly on customer service and the individual. The idea is that in today’s world of instant gratification and a million online options, it’s absolutely critical to go “above and beyond” with people. You have to treat them well, one at a time. They simply have too many other places to go if you don’t. I can’t tell you how much sense this makes to me.

Like, lightbulb on!

A few weeks ago I was looking for acupuncture clinics. Well, I found one that really looked sharp. They have a great website, stunning reviews, you name it. Their FAQ (frequently asked questions, Mom) page says they take some insurances–so call for more information. When I stopped by one day, they told me there was a form to fill out online to see if MY insurance was accepted and gave me a little green card with the link to the form on it. Then they answered a few of my questions and were generally helpful but not “over the top” about it. Anyway, I went home, filled out the form online, and–ten days later–got an email that said, “Your insurance does not pay for acupuncture, but let us know if we can still help you.”

Okay. In the beginning I was genuinely excited to have needles stuck in my sick body, but after almost two weeks of waiting and mediocre service, now I’m just–not. Like, spending one hundred and fifty out-of-pocket dollars for an initial visit doesn’t sound fun to me anymore. I guess I could change my mind tomorrow, but that’s how I feel today. This morning I thought, Why didn’t they put that link to the insurance form–I don’t know–on their website? I was already curious about their services and could have easily filled the form out online and saved myself from picking up the phone or getting in the car. And when they told me my insurance was not accepted, why didn’t they say, “We’re sorry. If we can still help you, here’s a discount code for your first visit.”?

I swear I’m not a (giant) customer service diva, and I really don’t care how someone else runs their business. Also, I know I could have done a lot of things differently when I had the dance studio. As they say, hindsight is 20/20. I’m just saying that, more and more, I truly believe little things can make a big difference. I know that in my situation with the acupuncture clinic, it wouldn’t have taken much more for me to feel like I mattered as a customer.

I guess that’s what this is all about, the idea that everyone wants to feel noticed and important, like our dollars and time mean something. Plus, in the world of computers and online shopping, I think we crave honest, human connection. Last week my dad was YELLING into the phone at the automated secretary on the other end–“I WANT TO SPEAK TO A REPRESENTATIVE–I WANT TO SPEAK TO A REPRESENTATIVE!”

With these things in mind, last night at the improv comedy show I performed in, I made a point to go around to every table within twenty feet of the stage and introduce myself. Hi, I’m Marcus. (Insert smile here.) Are you staying for the show? If so, I hope you have a great time. I was super nervous when I started this project, but after the first few tables, I calmed down. Before it was over, I was having the best time–and the show hadn’t even started yet. I met some ladies celebrating a friend’s birthday, talked to one couple who said they were having an affair (uh–probably a joke), and spent over twenty minutes with a woman who used to act, sing, and dance in Branson. “I was a triple threat,” she said.

Of course, I hope my talking to everyone made them feel welcomed and appreciated. I hope it enhanced their experience of the evening. That was the idea. But what I realized today is that I personally got something out of it. I loved meeting new people and hearing their stories. Plus, I was more comfortable on stage because I felt as if I had more friends in the audience, that more people were rooting for me. I don’t think this was just in my head–I think they actually were. Still, the point remains the same–you can’t give without getting. And no matter what you’re trying to give away to another–customer service, a kindness, a smile–you end up also giving to yourself.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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if you're content with yourself and you're always with yourself, then what's the problem?

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The Improv Adventure (Blog #261)

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A couple months ago I bought the wrong-sized boxer briefs. These were small, and I’m usually a medium. (I’m glad we can talk about such things.) Anyway, I tried to fit into them, but there was simply no way in hell. I mean, my butt’s really big, and it was like trying to push a bowling ball through a pea shooter. Not cute. At first I thought about trashing the boxer briefs, but I’m not really one to waste things, so then I thought about giving them away. Surely I can find a skinny twink in need of a pair of four-dollar underwear. (Hey–I’m not cheap–they were on sale! Also, look at me, trying to put underwear ON a twink.) But, honestly, giving once-tried-on underwear away is a rather weird thing to do, even for the holidays. I get that. Besides, what would the card say–Thinking of you? Plus, I’d already taken the tags off.

So I just kept them.

The History of my Underpants by Marcus Coker.

Believe it or not, there’s a point here. Last night, in a mad dash to get ready for my first improv comedy show, I realized I didn’t have any clean underwear–except the small boxer briefs! Well, I’ve lost some weight recently, so I thought, What the hell, it can’t hurt to try. So I took a deep breath, and y’all, it’s amazing what a few pounds can do–I actually managed to get the waistband over my hump. Granted, I felt like I was wearing a girdle, but I had clean underwear on, by god. Actually, it was rather pleasant the way they squeezed everything together, pushed one cheek up against the other, and made my assets, well, perkier.

Yes, I said assets.

The improv show last night with The RazorLaughs was a fundraiser for Dwight Mission, somewhere in Oklahoma. I didn’t drive, so I honestly have no idea where it was, but I guess getting people to come to an improv show in the middle of nowhere is about like getting people to attend a rumba lesson in Arkansas. In other words, there weren’t a lot of people there. This made me nervous, like, this could be awkward, but Aaron, Ian, and Summer said they’d performed for small groups before, and sometimes they’re easier than large ones–it just depends on the particular crowd. Fortunately, we lucked out. First of all, we got fed, and the food was great–apple and cranberry stuffing, sweet potatoes, green beans, and make-your-own sugar cookies. (Talk about fancy!) Second, the group was wonderful. We performed for over an hour, and not only did they not leave the room or throw rotten fruit at us, they participated and laughed–a lot.

If you’ve never been to an improv comedy show, it’s intentionally silly and unbelievable. In one of the scenes last night, I was a party host who had to guess what made each attendee special–Ian was a guy who laughed at EVERYTHING, Aaron was a hand model, and Summer was a sloth. It took me FOREVER to guess the sloth thing. Why are you moving so slowly–are you a woman on drugs? I mean, I was only given so much to work with (I knew I was a party host, and that was it), then I had to figure the rest out as I went along. In this sense, it was like an adventure. This is the fun of improv–not knowing where you’re going until you get there. In another scene, Summer was Frosty, and she was fighting with Aaron, who was Santa. Well, before things were over, Santa revealed that Frosty was his son. (Who would have guessed!) Summer said, “Uh, I’m actually your daughter.”

End of scene.

I realize these sketches aren’t that funny to read about it–you’re probably not even laughing out loud–but in the moment, they were hilarious. More than that, at least for me, they were actually interesting. At one point I was watching Summer play Jack Frost and Ian play Santa. They were thinking of stealing Christmas or something ridiculous, but I got so wrapped up in it. I kept thinking, What’s going to happen next?

It seems giving anything our attention is what makes it interesting. Like, I know that no one else cares about the size of my underwear, but it’s fascinating to me when I focus on it. And just like good underwear, even the silliest comedy sketches can be riveting and fun once we manage to get into them. I imagine this is how life is. We think we need a big audience. We walk into a room and say, “Where is everybody?” But last night Summer said a small crowd can be a great crowd if they simply want to be entertained. Ultimately, I guess it’s what we’re looking for, whether or not we’re willing to consider the pieces of our lives and be fascinated by them, whether or not we can take what we’re given and turn it into an adventure.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Solid help and solid hope are quite the same thing.

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My Family Soap Opera (Blog #260)

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Currently my aunt is at the house. She came over to have breakfast, and the plan is for her, my dad, and me to “clean the damn house for once.” Dad’s been talking about it for weeks, and I can’t blame him. We don’t do much deep cleaning around here, and you could write your name in the dust on the coffee table. Last night I started in the kitchen and spent a few hours. There was a sheet of baking soda on the cabinet shelves so thick it looked like a couple of cocaine dealers lived here. If there were any more cobwebs on the light fixtures, we could turn this place into Disney’s Haunted Mansion.

Of course, I’m exaggerating.

Now my dad and aunt have taken a break and are watching their soap opera, Days of Our Lives. (My aunt doesn’t like Chad’s new mustache.) Both of them are quite serious about this show. If one of my dad’s friends calls between one and two, he gets so pissed. “Don’t they know my soap is on?” That’s what my grandma used to call it–my soap. Like she personally had something to do with it. Dorothy Coker, Executive Producer. Anyway, she’d say, “Marcus, I watch this show because it makes my life seem normal.” I guess since this was a benefit she could obtain without getting out of her chair or putting her teeth in, it was a pretty good deal.

The phone just rang. Dad, of course, isn’t happy about it. “Every day, somebody calls during the soap opera!”

Dad’s on a real tare today. Before I could even stumble into the kitchen and get myself vertical this morning, he told me he wanted me and “someone” to go to the hospital where Mom’s been getting chemotherapy and sing and dance–as a thank you for saving my mother’s life. Apparently there’s a board at the hospital where they tack thank-you cards that people send the staff, and Dad wants to stand out. And whereas I appreciate his thinking out of the box, I’m not exactly thrilled about the fact that he wants to pimp his son out in order to show his gratitude. “Couldn’t you just send a cookie cake or some balloons?” I said. He practically rolled his eyes. “Everybody does that.”

Now the soap is over, my aunt’s dusting, and Dad’s got the vacuum cleaner out. My assignment is to clean the bathrooms, so I really need to wrap this up.

Last night was the final improv class, which was a performance. Honestly, I was super impressed with the kids. I guess there’s something about the pressure of an audience that makes everyone rise to the occasion. Anyway, in the thick of the whole affair, my friend Aaron, who teaches the class, introduced me as on of the instructors. Ian and Summer, the other instructors, were there, and people actually clapped for us. I told Summer, “I’m just a student. I feel like a fraud.”

Well, as if that weren’t enough, Aaaon, Ian, and Summer, invited me to join their improv group, The Razorlaughs, this evening for a private Christmas party. Of course, this invitation terrified me, but it also excited me, so I said yes. So this is another reason I need to get on the stick and finish cleaning the house–the show’s in a few hours. Daddy’s got things to do, places to go, people to see. As always, I’ll let you know how it goes. Until then, I’ll be giving myself pep talks.

Be funny, Marcus. Be funny.

I guess some things never change. Friends will always call during your soap opera, parents will always volunteer their children for things they don’t want to do, and dust will always be a part of life. But other things do change, thankfully. After months of not cleaning, your family can link arms and spruce the place up. You can spend a semester or your whole life as a student, then in one night you’re a teacher, or at least ready to say goodbye to the classroom and say hello to something new. The hope of something new–this, I think, is what each new day brings.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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We always have more support than we realize.

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Raising and Lowering My Standards (Blog #175)

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Currently it feels like everything is catching up to me. Earlier this week I spent four days working in a friend’s yard. Now the cuts on my arms and legs are starting to scab over, and the blisters on my hands are forming new skin, but my body is definitely still in shock from all the activity. As if that weren’t enough, I decided to cut out coffee and junk food yesterday. On the one hand, I’m really proud. On the other hand, I’ve already been tempted to self-sabotage with a piece of bread or chocolate cake–oh–fifty-six times today. Also, I’ve wanted to yell at every person I’ve come in contact with.

I’m sure that’s all very normal.

I don’t know exactly where I’m going here. This morning I ate a healthy breakfast, then did yoga for fifteen minutes and meditated for thirty. Getting back into yoga is a slow process. There are days when my body is right there, other days when it’s right there giving me the finger. Today is a finger day. My mood is cranky, my brain is full of fog, and my brain is full of fog. Did I just say that? See–this is what happens when a man is separated from his biscuits and joe. It’s not pretty.

In all my years of teaching dance, I’ve only come across a couple “naturals,” intelligent people who picked it up–mentally and physically–super fast. But one of them was X. He learned quickly, practiced often. Conversely, there was Y, a leader who took longer to find the beat than I’m taking to find a husband. In terms of skill, Y was the exact opposite of X. All that being said, X quit taking classes, for whatever reason. Y, however, kept coming. Week after week, he was there. Eventually he found the beat and made wonderful progress. As a teacher, I was proud of Y. Still, I would have loved to see X stick around–he had a lot of talent. What X didn’t have, however, was the interest or perseverance that Y had.

I guess this story is on my mind tonight because I don’t feel like I’m a natural at healthy eating or doing yoga. I feel less like X and more like Y. I’m thirty-seven now, and it might be time to admit that I may never have a six-pack or the flexibility of a junior-high cheerleader. Also, I know I’ve blogged a number of times about starting to eat better over the last six months, and there’s part of me that hates to bring it up again. I’ve obviously fallen off the proverbial sugar wagon here, and the last thing I want to do is become one of “those people” who’s always starting a diet or whatever.

We all know what happened to the boy who cried carbohydrates.

But–even though I’m not a natural–I am interested and do have perseverance, so I’m willing to “try again.” I guess the latest fuss is because a friend is going to take some pictures of me in a couple weeks. I told her I’d like some professional photos to start promoting my business page on Facebook. (If you haven’t liked it, please do so.) Anyway, I know two weeks isn’t enough time to become a Greek god, but it’s at least enough time for my pants to fit. Hey, if this last year has taught me anything, it’s the value of lowering my standards.

Ironically, I’ve been thinking tonight’s blog was about raising your standards. In dance and other endeavors, I’ve seen a lot of people quit. Maybe they get busy or run out of money, maybe it’s harder than they thought it would be. Once my friend Kara told me, “I don’t think we ask enough of ourselves,” and I think she’s right. Recently I had a student say over and over that they were a slow learner, that they couldn’t do any better right here, right now. Tonight in improv class, as part of a skit, I asked a girl to twerk. Ideally, I think she would have at least tried, but she pretty much left character and said, “I can’t. I can’t twerk.” Anyway, more often than not, it seems we argue for our limitations rather than our capabilities, and that’s where I think we could raise our standards.

We could at least try.

In my case, I’ve been raising my standards by telling myself that I can eat better, can do yoga, can get outside my comfort zone and go to an improv class. My therapist and I have been working on my negative thoughts about money, and I know I can do better. I don’t have it all figured out, but I have figured out that just because I believe something doesn’t make it true, so that’s where I’m starting. I’m willing to be wrong (for a change) and let go of old beliefs. Honestly, I think we’re meant for change. I don’t think any of us came to this planet to say, “I can’t” decade after decade and never try anything new.

God, wouldn’t that be boring?

In regards to lowering my standards, I’m learning that “I can do better” doesn’t mean “I have to do perfect.” It’s okay to start, fall down, and start over again. It’s okay to go slow and be bad at something. It’s even okay to let the process exhaust you and turn you into a grouch for a while, since even if you’re interested in and willing to persevere at something new, old habits usually go down swingin’. I guess new skin doesn’t form right away. Rather, the old has to fall off first. This, of course, leaves things raw and rough for a very necessary while, perhaps so we can grow and remember what we’re capable of.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Growth and getting far in life have nothing to do with where you’re physically standing.

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Pants and Other Things That Change (Blog #161)

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Okay, this is kind of a big deal. I’m starting a blog before midnight. The reason for this small miracle is because I’m tired. I’d like to get this done and go to bed. As it turns out, when you sleep on a farm like I did last night, you have to wake up early–at least if the farm next door has a bulldozer that beeps every time it backs up. Oh well, shit happens, and thank God for coffee.

I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I think I could actually be a morning person. I mean, I don’t think I’ll ever be “one of those” morning people–you know the type–bouncing off the walls, annoying. But I could definitely function and be pleasant. This morning I sat on CJ’s porch, caffeinated, and watched the butterflies flap their wings and a spider make its nest. I also heard a wasp fly by my ear, but since I was half-naked, I screamed like a girl and didn’t stay outside for any more “morning wonders.” So I went in, took a shower, and almost slipped and fell on the slick floor. And before I could stop myself–just like an old person–I thought, God, a rubber mat would be nice.

This afternoon I made a pit-stop in Fayetteville for lunch (and more coffee) with my friend Ray. Then I went shopping for a new pair of jeans, since last week I split the seat out of mine. Plus, it’s my birthday next week, so I’d like new pants. That is, I’m assuming I won’t be spending the whole day naked. (Sigh.) Anyway, maybe I really am getting old and cranky, but when I was younger, buying jeans was easier. Now every item I pick up is basically a pair of yoga pants–skinny calves, stretchy all over–not flattering for people who eat pancakes for lunch. Still, I always try on these “rubber bottoms,” hoping. But they never work. My ankles are small, my butt is big–nothing fits. Talk about frustrating. The only positive thing to shopping today was all the calories I burned trying to get into and out of all that elastic denim.

It wasn’t pretty. Plus, still no birthday britches.

Tonight in improv class we played a game called Change. Or maybe it was called Try Again. Obviously, I wasn’t paying a lot of attention. But the idea is that two people start a scene, like maybe a couple is out to eat at Long John Silver’s. Then at some point in the dialogue, someone off stage (the director) says, “Change,” and the actors have to keep changing their dialogue until they get a green light.

“I sure would like the shrimp, honey.” (Change.)

“I sure would like the catfish, dear.” (Change.)

“Do these hush puppies make my butt look big?”

One of the benefits of the game is that it teaches you to think on your feet, to quickly let go of whatever you had in mind for the scene and go in a different direction. Of course, it’s hard as hell, but that’s the fun of it. No one has any idea what’s going to happen next. (Kind of like life.)

Back at the house tonight, Mom was already in bed, so Dad and I went to Waffle House for dinner. We both got the same thing, so it was almost like eating at home, except we didn’t have to do the dishes. I had two more cups of coffee, so even though I’m currently exhausted, my arms are shaking. Anyway, I made Dad take four selfies with me, and he was a good sport about it. But when we got home–maybe as payback–I had to give him his insulin shot. Granted, until tonight, I’d never given anyone a shot ever, but I thought, It can’t be that hard. Hell, I can put a nail in sheet rock like nobody’s business.

Of course, sheet rock doesn’t bleed.

Luckily, Dad didn’t either. I just counted to three, stuck the needle in as if I were picking up a piece of cheddar cheese with a toothpick, and slowly injected the insulin. Then I counted to ten, took out the needle, and rubbed the spot with alcohol. Dad said, “You don’t have to take the skin off.”

“Oh.”

Tonight I’ve been thinking that it would be nice to have a “change” or “try again” option for life. Like, there are a few (dozen–hundred–dozen hundred) things I’d like to do differently. Of course, we can’t go back. That being said, things are changing constantly, and I guess we really can begin again at any moment. We can always wake up one day and say, “This isn’t working for me anymore.” Really, I think life is constantly reminding us of this. I met a spiritual teacher once who said we get hung up because of how we identify. For example, I could think, “I’m a dance instructor,” and cause myself a lot of problems if I don’t have any students. He said the truth is always simpler. Like, in this moment, I’m a sitter because I’m sitting. If I wanted to go a step further, I could say that I’m a writer, but as soon as I close my laptop, I’m not a writer anymore.

The truth is right in front of you.

This makes a lot of sense to me, but I often forget to remind myself that each day–each hour–I play many different roles. First I’m a coffee drinker (change), then maybe a yoga student (change), then a friend at lunch (change). Before the day is over, I’m a shot-giver! The mystics say this isn’t a problem unless you get stuck identifying with your past, which–by the way–only exists in your head. So one minute you’re healthy, then you’re sick, then your healthy again. Or one day you have a job, and then you don’t, and then (surely) you do again. And maybe it really is all a game. The mystics say that too, that life’s just exploring itself. One minute it’s here, the next minute it’s there. They say the joke is that the truth (reality) is right in front of you, it’s just always changing, sort of like a pair of pants.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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Answers come built-in. There are no "just problems."

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Improvising My Way through Life (Blog #140)

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Except for the part where I stopped at a car wash and vacuumed my car with a vacuum cleaner that smelled like vomit, today was a great day. First of all, I didn’t get out of bed until three in the afternoon, and second, at the tender age of thirty-six, I went back to school–improv comedy school.

I’ll explain.

Several of my friends are in a local improv comedy group called The Razorlaughs. (They’re super creative and hilarious.) If you don’t know, improv comedy is comedy that is made up on the spot. It’s sort of like eating a box of chocolates while riding a roller coaster blindfolded–you never know what you’re gonna get or what’s gonna happen next. Anyway, The Razorlaughs (Aaron, Ian, Summer, Austin) are teaching an improv class at Future School of Fort Smith, which is the new kid on the block in terms of high schools ’round these parts. (I don’t know why I suddenly started talking like a cowboy.) The cool thing? The class is open to adults as well as high school students. (Come join the fun.)

Tonight the improv class started with introductions, then we did some basic stretches, since apparently it’s not uncommon for actors and actresses to hurt their ankles. (Who knew?) Then we warmed up our voices by making noises like rockets and whiney little children. (It was awesome.) Finally we did some tongue twisters, such as saying “wristwatch” and “toy boat” five times fast.

Go ahead and try it. No one’s watching.

The actual improv part of the evening centered around a game called Freeze, Unfreeze. The idea is that two people start the scene, each with a character and a setting. Like maybe a guy and a girl are on a blind date at a bowling alley. Hopefully each character is all dramatic with lots of gestures, then at some point, maybe while the guy is celebrating with his hands in the air, one of the other actors says, “Freeze,” and steps in to take the place of one of the people on stage, assuming their exact position. But the catch is that when they Unfreeze, the setting and situation change. Maybe now the guy has his hands in the air and is being arrested. So everyone has to adapt and go in a different direction.

When it was my turn to participate, I noticed my heart was beating pretty fast. I told Summer (who’s a pro at this sort of thing), “I’m nervous,” and she said, “It’s all right.” Well, like any typical Thursday evening, I started out on my knees (just kidding), as I was given the assignment to “be someone who plays video games.” My partner for the scene, a girl, was someone riding a bike. The setting was–get this–a disco club. Honestly, I’m not sure what happened next. I just know there was a simulated bike-to-video-gamer crash, some John Travolta moves, and a lot of silliness.

Soon I was tapped out, and others took over the scene. The whole thing was a blur, but somehow or other, Ian ended up on the ground with someone sitting on top of him. Maybe they were wrestling–I don’t know–but I said, “Freeze,” tapped out the person on top, and took their place. Quickly I grabbed Ian’s leg, slowly dragged him along the floor, and sang, “Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream.”

These sorts of shenanigans went on for over an hour. Several times I got so caught up in what the others were doing and creating, that I couldn’t think fast enough to jump in. Seriously, I was really impressed with the high school kids–not just for being half my age, but for all their bravery and good ideas. At one point I started a scene on one leg, which I was thinking of as a yoga pose, but then one of the students stepped up, put my arms above my head, and said, “Now this is how you do a pirouette.” Later, someone else pushed me around the floor after telling me I was a lawnmower.

It was fun, but I wish I’d known to bring my kneepads. (I am almost forty.)

After class Aaron said that one of the principles of good improv is something called “yes and,” which means that if someone tells you that you’re a lawnmower, you say yes and add something to it. In my case, I added the fact that my lawnmower ran out of gas, which gave the next person something to work with. So if each person does this, it moves the scene along. But obviously a scene would die if someone said no–no, I’m not a lawnmower–and just stood there.

Tonight I finished a young-adult fiction novel I’ve been reading, The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Indian by Sherman Alexie. The story centers around a teenage Indian who leaves his reservation to attend an all-white school. Toward the end of the story, he joins the basketball team. Before his first game, much like I did with Summer tonight, he tells his coach he’s nervous. In response, his coach says there’s a difference between being nervous and being scared. He says, “Nervous means you want to play. Scared means you don’t want to play.”

I hadn’t thought about this distinction before. I mean, before the class tonight, I was definitely nervous. As I think about what’s to come next in my life and whether or not my dreams will come true, I’m definitely nervous. Perhaps a little scared, but mostly nervous. And I love the idea that maybe my nervousness simply means I want to play–I want to get out there–I want to try something new and see what happens.

I want an adventure.

Honestly, it seems that life is a lot like an improv game where things are constantly changing and new characters are coming in and out of the scene. One minute you’ve got your own business, and the next you’re living with your parents. (I’m just pulling possibilities out of a hat here.) And whereas there are certain things you can’t change, you can always adapt and go in a different direction. You can say “yes and.” Yes, I’m living at home again–and I’m taking the opportunity to write every day. Yes, I don’t have a job–and I’m using my free time to learn something new. Yes, I’m the oldest person in the improv class–and at least I know what disco is.

Yes, I’m nervous–and I still want to play.

[Thanks to the Razorlaughs for a great evening. You guys rock. Thanks to Kate for the pictures of me. You rock too. Lastly, here’s a video of the pros playing Freeze, Unfreeze (3.5 minutes).]

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

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No emotion is ever truly buried.

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