Can’t make a sound. I’m at a loss for words to write, and I’ve been thinking (for once… -Ed.). Nothing makes sense and everything feels pointless. How can I face completing my manuscript in these conditions? It means nothing… irony is dead. I don’t care… I don’t care about my masterpiece anymore. Enough of it is done that if I die people will get the gist (Don’t say that about yourself -Ed.). I don’t feel motivated to continue working in a country that’s split in two. It’s a tragedy in every sense of the word, and it probably means that we won’t be getting an Au Bon Pain around here anytime soon. There were going to consolidate the empty parking lot across the street from Jeremy’s farm, and I honestly don’t really care for that man and his animals. I’ve never been over there but I hear the worst things about them: uncultured, rude, loud, violent. I mean, I’d just rather not. [REFERENCE TO “QUALITY HEN” REMOVED, ROO -Ed.]
Everyone is in a daze that’s pretty quickly developing into anger, frustration vented… those asshole horses on Linden’s property are so irritating. They probably don’t even know how to read or all seven declensions of Latin. I can read six languages and write in three fluently. I’ve seen so many things, what business do I have with you? But you know, okay, go ahead, keep the future from coming in. I would’ve liked to have eaten at that Au Bon Pain but I’ll be fine. My wife Monica has been helping me edit Always a Stone in addition to all of my correspondences. I don’t mind it when she helps me, but she could be a little less pushy, perhaps [Your own good -Ed.]. I don’t know. I’m blathering, Kim. I can’t remember what I was going to tell you [WHO IS KIM -Ed.]
They got their way. No Au Bon Pain. But they won. Why are they so angry still? I don’t understand it. I tried observing them once, for research, for my novel, but they disgusted me so much I had to stay away. So I’m basing my work on… character sketches. Imagined places. Imagined people [WHO IS KIM! -Ed.]. Anyway I just wanted to thank you for getting my mail the other day, I really didn’t my wife to see [SEE WHAT? -Ed.] that I’d gotten her birthday present two months in advance [aw, Roo! -Ed.] and I’d rather surprise her. But I’m not sure how to proceed from here. Everyone thought the Au Bon Pain was coming and now it’s not. What do we do now? Heal, be safe, watch out for each other. Eat, even if it’s not artisanal. Take up the tambourine, blow off some steam. Distract yourselves until I'm emotionally prepared to entertain you again, peons [This could be softened. -Ed.]
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