Thursday, April 10, 2008

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Thursday, April 10, 2008. Join a facebook group in memory of the dead. This is your morning wake-up call.

(Walking against the current of a parade. Weaving our way through a marching band.)
I swore the moment it ended I would sell my things, buy a flight on into Anchorage. I'd pack some shirts, my jeans and my warmest coat, but leave most of it behind. I'd catch a bus to Seward, find work on some boat in the summers, eighteen hour days. In the winter I'd hole up in a room with a wood burning stove, my desk and my papers next to the shadeless window so I could record the movements.

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