Read the Letters
Abecedarian prose-poetry memoir
At the bar, he read Anaïs Nin, some angel had him hooked, but he pressed the papers into my hand. Read the letters, he instructed, as I was a literary follower, and this was a man who’d lived much longer than me.
Better things to do with my time than think about how he would leave his wife for me, take me under his whiskey wing, camp out under foreign…