just fastwrite, now–give it to them in a draft. raw and red, squiggly lines intact.

Driving over there just to see the place. Again I do this: and when I show up, thoughts are grim and I’m wistful and thick in the head. Nothing will be written. And to the city I must return–but you must be warned: it has this tendency as well. To stupefy and render me mute until I return and talk about it, then…

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