But this cave's even more to me than that. You know, there used to be newspaper articles and things about this cave. Every couple decades, someone would rediscover it and write about it. And people would be like, "well, how about it? Eleven Jones Cave! A mystery cave right in the middle of this big city, and we didn't even know it!" And then they'd move on to something else, and then 20 or 30 years later, someone would remember it again.
.
.
.
And now nobody does. Even my childhood friends, the ones I used to play with when I was a boy, they've forgotten about the cave we discovered in the way back when. Or else they don't care, because I'm sure as hell none of them come to visit.
So this is my cave. And I don't mean it like I own it. I mean it like, this cave is known only to me. It's my duty to know every little crack, every little place the rock juts out. It's my duty to know when the soil gets saturated and the water's about to come wandering through here. It's my duty to look after the little cave beetles. They don't have eyes, you know, they need a little help sometimes.
It's my little speck of the only world I know, and I love it to bits.
