Why write again? When I know that I must exercise caution. When I know that to commit my desires to paper is madness. When I know that those screaming bitch types who insist on trolling all over town spoil it for the rest of us. (I saw Gilbert Harding last week in his ghastly Roller, screeching out of the window at some poor lad on a bicycle. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.)
