I Would Not Send A First Story

Do What I Will Never Do.

In The Days That Follow, He Begins To Remember Things About Moushumi, Images That Come To Him Without Warning While He Is Sitting At His Desk At Work, Or During A Meeting, Or Drifting Off To Sleep, Or Standing In The Mornings Under The Shower. They Are Scenes He Has Carried Within Him, Buried But Intact, Scenes He Has Never Thought About Or Had Reason To Conjure Up Until Now.

Somehow, Bad News, However Ridden With Static, However Filled With Echoes, Always Manages To Be Conveyed.

...that In Spite Of Living In A Mansion An American Is Not Above Wearing A Pair Of Secondhand Pants, Bought For Fifty Cents.

The Urge To Convert Experience Into A Group Of Words That Are In A Grammatical Relation To One Another Is The Most Basic, Ongoing Impulse Of My Life.