I don’t think this will be what you think it will be.
It’s not a love story, though I do love her. And it’s not a tragedy,
though my head did roll.

My title was Fool. Which is technically the oldest profession in the
world. People always say prostitution is the oldest profession but that
feels unfair because somebody had to make the first prostitute laugh.

I made my living by making the Queen forget her nightmares. And
when I died, she went outside for the first time in forty years-- just to
carry my head through the rain.

Tell me that’s not love.

Tell me that’s not a mother fuckin’ punchline.

Rule #1 to writing a good joke: always begin with the truth.

Eventually our elm died and rotted down in the front lawn. But before it did, Mom made a last ditch effort to save it. Put all her worth into healing the dumb tree. Skipped breakfast to water its withered yellow trunk and shriveled leaves. Ordered special dirt from a nursery. Even put compost around it. But it was already sick at the roots and everybody knew it didn't stand a chance.

“I’ve tried to stay hidden for the past 20 years,” Lisa tells us when we first make contact with her. 

"I preferred leaving the past behind," she explains, "and instead built a new life." 

She always does.