You're never too old to make believe

He preferred to live in his fiction.

In his fiction there were ninjas and robots and dinosaurs. Sometimes robotic dinosaur ninjas. Other times, dinosaur riding, ninjas.

In his fiction, jade was still just a color - it had yet to be verbed.
Magic was more than just a card game, and having a dream was more than just a speech public schools attempted to teach every February.

In his fiction, everyone was regular and not full of shit.
The only bull shit to be found came from bulls, and perhaps Chicago players.

In his fiction, the model of his being only appreciated.
The value never dropped as soon as he left the lot, and no one ever tried to suggest how he should drive. He was valued for what he was.

In his fiction, he didnt suffer.
He didn't have suffrage. It was not a democracy.

In his fiction, he wrote better than this.