Excerpt from mail sent in 1999
I'd grabbed the wrong book that morning. I'd meant to grab the green library book which I hadn't read. Instead, I'd grabbed the green library book which I had read. And so, on the train, when the guy started to explain to me about Frank Sinatra's involvement in the Kennedy assassination, I didn't really have anything better to do than listen. Maybe if the guy hadn't been drunk off of his ass, I would have understood the complicated web of intrigue that he was trying to map out.
Still, when he was demonstrating the difference in styles between the punches of Rocky Marciano (sp?) and Evander Holyfield (a distinction very important to his path of reasoning), I was glad I was a big person, because otherwise I think I might have found the explanation frightening.
Women Walking Weird
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