An old post.
Here I sit, in a cabin, in Ancram, NY, eating fruit salad. Blueberry, apple, pear, papaya, and a drizzle of lemon. That’s what’s in the salad in case you were wondering. I know you were. For some reason, as a writer, I want to wink at you, Reader. Hah. I find myself getting that urge a lot when I write, to wink. Sometimes the urge comes to me in real life (writing isn’t real life) but I fight it; I can’t wink. Or, rather, I can’t wink well, so I abstain generally. But here, now, and to you, I wink.
Sam Cooke is singing something to me, I’m ripping R.E.M. (Monster), and my aunt has just donated to me a large cooking fork. The majority of the Earth’s population will probably never have a moment in life as wonderful and comfortable as this. I am, after all, operating…
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