Then He Got More Books. He Saved

He Was Feeling Buoyant, Flexible. He Wanted To Go Jogging. He Stood. He Couldn't Go Jogging. He Called Room Service And Ordered A Basket Of Breads And Pastries.

Through The Small Tall Bathroom Window The December Yard Is Gray And Scratchy, The Tree Calligraphic.

The Pain Is Not Great. But The Symbolism Is Disagreeable.

Now I'm In Nonfiction. To Me Any Given Story Has Its Appropriate Form. There Might Be Some Story I Get Involved With That's Begging To Be A Graphic Novel, So That Will Have To Be That Way. There's Always That Matching Of The Content And The Form, And That Means Everything To Me. I Spend Years Thinking About What That Match Is Going To Be Before I Can Really Make It Work.

I Went To Saudi Arabia In 2010, And Spent Most Of My Time In Jeddah And The King Abdullah Economic City.