Do You Have Any Idea How Much

Even As Your Body Betrays You, Your Mind Denies It.

Sometimes I Think If I Had To Choose Between An Ear Of Corn Or Making Love To A Woman, I'd Choose The Corn.

The More Distressing The Memory, The More Persistent It's Presence.

I Scan The Room. Catherine Is Writing Quickly, Her Light Brown Hair Falling Over Her Face. She Is Left-handed, And Because She Writes In Pencil Her Left Arm Is Silver From Wrist To Elbow.

My Platitudes Don't Hold Their Interest And I Can Hardly Blame Them For That. My Real Stories Are All Out Of Date. So What If I Can Speak Firsthand About The Spanish Flu, The Advent Of The Automobile, World Wars, Cold Wars, Guerrilla Wars, And Sputnik — That's All Ancient History Now. But What Else Do I Have To Offer? Nothing Happens To Me Anymore. That's The Reality Of Getting Old, And I Guess That's Really The Crux Of The Matter. I'm Not Ready To Be Old Yet.