I want it more than truth. I can taste it on my breath.

[cyrano]

The game's afoot, Watson.
And welcome Jessica, from the lush green lands of Washington, to the peanut gallery.

There is still endurance. There is occasionally a glimmer of hope for the future, something to feed on or to hoard for darker times. There are still those who stand with me and refuse to let me fall. There is still the delicate taste of joy in simple and pleasant things. There is still the probability of winning if the endurance lasts.
There is still me. There is still the persistence of self.