Magic, which is trying to hold onto people with your own hands...
—Jack Spicer
I wasn’t attempting to alter the course of
my day any more, which is when it hap
pened. Isn’t that how things so often go?
And so I misread moon for moron. Or at
least I think I had. Years later (like maybe
five, ten minutes max), I was poring over
the text of the two pages whereupon I had
surely come across the lunar reference to the
cheese of it all. But there was no moon. Had
it been Muenster or Camembert? The old
man in the maroon didn’t care. He’d just
written moron when he had meant room.
There’s a lot more space in space, I think.
When I do. Which is, lately, all too often.
five, ten minutes max), I was poring over
the text of the two pages whereupon I had
surely come across the lunar reference to the
cheese of it all. But there was no moon. Had
it been Muenster or Camembert? The old
man in the maroon didn’t care. He’d just
written moron when he had meant room.
There’s a lot more space in space, I think.
When I do. Which is, lately, all too often.
