I come this way for the fires. Downwind is
our inaugural hedge fund: “It’ll be worthwhile
under the belt with our items for approval.”
Speaking of my fiction and the very act of
writing, the show I’d forgotten how to end
was just beginning. Or, more accurately and
timely, the repartee with my newly-formed
Little Rock correspondent was just underway.
“My poetry was at Gayplace.com?” “Yeah,
well I see it right here, ‘Del Ray Cross’!” “Oh
...” It seems we need surgery to replace our
necks, are organizationally empowered by
the demands of the organization, and repeat
ourselves too much. Repetition either ensures
e-mail or ensnares it. He teaches fiction. I
finally sent him a missile this morning: “Red
may return to green after disheartening.” Is
that the act of cleaning away the heart? “My
class is fine, thanks.” “I finally got the Nobel Prize.”
