He attacked the mundane with the precocious ferocity of unfiltered inspiration. He loved and lost. He was far enough ahead to wonder if he was behind. More than half a decade ago, he left. And on a day like today, when the clouds leave enough room in the sky so as to suggest the infinite possibilities of the spaces in between, I remember.
Someone needs a trip to the gym, it seems.
All this gloominess may be part of the larger process, but whoa is it lame. I'm a little bitter at the L-train at present. Not all mail, mind you, just magazines.