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Strange days. The feeling that one’s life resembles a movie. I have such disorientation, V., I can’t tell you.
Writing Prompt
“I don’t believe in the perfectibility of the individual,” she said.
He woke to quiet voices. This had been happening more and more lately, this nodding off unexpectedly, and it left him with an unsettled intimation of rehearsal. You fall asleep for short periods and then for longer periods and then forever.
He remembered being here with Clark at three or four or sometimes five in the morning, during what seemed at the time like adulthood and seemed in retrospect like a dream. The dream lasted just a moment, but the moment was bright:
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