How do I write the story of a man’s life?
How do I paint a landscape of his essence, his moral upheavals, his grandiose delinquencies that fell like a tablecloth to the floor on the sunny side of the room by the time he was 50 years old.
The pen I seek is not made. The finest Portrait Linen is not smooth enough. Well, maybe.
I’ll just contemplate the wrappings of this lovely Salsbury Steak and Mashed Taters tv dinner I’m about to parlay into my vacant stomach, and sing a song of Auld Lang Syne. – Sinz