Must Protect My Little Pockets Of Happiness.

Being The Survivor Stinks.

I Roll Onto My Side And Stare Out The Venetian Blinds At The Blue Sky Beyond. After A Few Minutes I'm Lulled Into A Sort Of Peace. The Sky, The Sky--same As It Always Was.

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

Life Goes On With Fragile Normalcy.

I Tend Not To Think About The Reading Public At All, Or The Business, When I'm Writing.