imaginings werewolf it didn't matter how much he imagined, or how many good things he wished he had done, he was weighed down by what actually happened, what he actually did. no matter how he tried to be romantic or philisophical about it, it seemed as if he couldn't escape what had actually happened. it seemed so arbitrary. what made the people in the real world more important than the ones in his head, who he'd given such wrongs and right to, innumerable wrongs and rights. 040423 what's it to you? who go blather from