Ignore the dirty sink.
Tiny messages from N. A strange cousin (elderly) has a facebook page. He looks like a combination of Cousin It and the Gordon’s fishstick sea captain. She’s writing a paper on someone I’ve never heard of. S@ul W1ll1@ms. To tell you the truth, he reminds me of Sun R@. Do you remember him?
Also reminds me of a very old black man who hung around my campus — it was part of his nine campus pilgrimage, he said. He dressed in shaman-like robes and carried a staff and had a long grizzled beard. I can’t remember his name, now. I do remember having a long conversation with him outside the Store 24. He was similarly mystical.
I keep thinking about John Updike. Here’s a paragraph from an early story, “A Sense of Shelter,” reprinted in Wednesday’s New York Times:
Snow fell against the high school all day, wet big-flake snow that did not accumulate well. Sharpening two pencils, William looked down on a parking lot that was a blackboard in reverse; car tires had cut smooth arcs of black into the white, and wherever a school bus had backed around, it had left an autocratic signature of two V’s
Click back, and back, and back.