Month of Gerri's and Carson's births, of Gods & Money's publication, of the Purple Martins and their roosting spectacle in downtown Fort Myers, of my Walt Whitman seminar, of the start of hurricane season. of the solstice, of slowing down.
I am afflicted with a painful desire to own Peabody's Wayback machine and live in New York City in 1951. It would involve kicking his pet-boy Sherman's ass, but it would be worth it.
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