I’ve forgotten almost completely why I began this writing project.
We just got back up the New River from our excursion down to Biscayne Bay, just beneath Miami.
This story is a continuation of You’re either gay or in the CIA part 1.
Mr lethargic took out a strange flat metal pipe and we did a little puff puff give. He was stingy and put it back in his pack after a couple puffs. This would…
Little by little, almost imperceptibly our departure date has slipped, and slipped again. It was going to be April 10th, then we needed a special part so it got pushed back. Then it arrived broken, so we had to wait another 10 days for a replacement. Now it’s arrived, but…
Writing at its best has a sort of alchemical quality. You take experiences and transmute them into something of a higher order. You discover and amplify their meaning.
That is why I find the following story so strange. I’m not sure what it means.