I Am A Cigarette With A Body

When A Reader Finishes A Wonderful Story And Lays It Aside, He Should Have To Pause For A Minute And Collect Himself.

That Was In Crescent City, California, Up Near The Oregon Border. I Left Soon After. But Today I Was Thinking Of That Place, Of Crescent City, And Of How I Was Trying Out A New Life There With My Wife, And How, In The Barber's Chair That Morning, I Had Made Up My Mind To Go. I Was Thinking Today About The Calm I Felt When I Closed My Eyes And Let The Barber's Fingers Move Through My Hair, The Sweetness Of Those Fingers, The Hair Already Starting To Grow.

There Is No Answer. It's Okay. But Even If It Wasn't Okay, What Am I Supposed To Do?

In The Beginning, When I Was Trying To Write, I Couldnt Turn Off The Outside World To The Extent That I Can Now.

All This, All Of This Love We're Talking About, It Would Just Be A Memory. Maybe Not Even A Memory. Am I Wrong? Am I Way Off Base? Because I Want You To Set Me Straight If You Think I'm Wrong. I Want To Know. I Mean, I Don't Know Anything, And I'm The First One To Admit It.