She Pulls Away, Pats Me On The

He Was Feeling Buoyant, Flexible. He Wanted To Go Jogging. He Stood. He Couldn't Go Jogging. He Called Room Service And Ordered A Basket Of Breads And Pastries.

I Had Forgotten That, And So Many Things. How Could I Put Everything Down On Paper? It Seemed Impossible. No Matter What, The Majority Of Life Would Be Left Out Of This Story, This Sliver Of A Version Of The Life I'd Known. But I Tried Anyway.

I Think Almost Every Writer In The World Would Hope That Books Would Be Always Talked About With Respect And Civility And Depth And Seriousness.

And There Is A Chance That Everything We Did Was Incorrect, But Stasis Is Itself Criminal For Those With The Means To Move, And The Means To Weave Communion Between People.

I Think There's A Future Where The Web And Print Coexist And They Each Do Things Uniquely And Complement Each Other, And We Have What Could Be The Ultimate And Best-yet Array Of Journalistic Venues.