Second saddest thing in the world: letting go.

Street photos of narcissists—like shooting fish in a barrel.

You fail to avoid an old coworker on street, and just shake your head in greeting. It’s been that kind of year.

Surrounded by chaos and devastation, he felt at ease. His inner and outer worlds had reached equilibrium

What were thought to be diseases turned out to be the body’s unsuccessful attempts at healing.

You’ve done your market research and you’ve ended up with your great big pile of shit.

Each morning he stepped out, felt the air on his skin, and gave thanks for this new reprieve.

Compulsive thinking, fitful sleeping, and endless, endless trips to the bathroom.

Tonight R. called from California. He was shouting over loud voices and sounds of things breaking. I mentioned a dream about Dad. Somehow R. seemed embarrassed by this confidence. He quickly changed the subject to an incident in high school when someone had blamed him for something he hadn’t done. After all these years, he still seemed pissed off about it.
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He gave me a toll-free number for government auctions of cars and boats confiscated from drug dealers. Mercedes $300. BMW $250. He seemed unnaturally concerned that I write it down.
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Later it occurred to me: R. doing coke again?

Were you a person of consequence?
Were you even a person?
Did you learn anything?
Was there still hope?
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Nope, no, nyet, maybe.

Long after your actions and their results, the residue of your intentions.

The new merged corporation will be headquartered everywhere and will cut 100% of its workforce.

Your search—iceberg + ronson lighter + beefheart—did not match any documents.

Over the course of one sunny afternoon a stately ice shelf the size of Connecticut breaks loose and collapses into the ocean. You are dispersing. You have entered the floe.

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