The Last Lonely Year

 

    05/23/22 Bethlehem

     Well, look.  We are here again, and you are there, and I am tapping these words onto the page and thinking of you and how much has changed since we exchanged glances.  It’s in the past.  Isn’t it nice to be separate and living our own lives?  There is much to say about distance and passing years.  You may assume I am writing about you. 

               Since the last entry I bought a small cape in Bethlehem.  I am next to a highway and am used to the traffic like constant gusts of wind or waves crashing into the shore, but there is the asshole and the hollow radiating muffler who demands attention.  The fuck.  He passes and I ignore him or her or whoever may be behind the wheel. 

               My last novel was published under a pseudonym, Roberto Picado.  Black Market Bones which is by far the best thing I’ve written in a few years.  It’s part of a trilogy and I am banging out Part II this year.

               More later