Thursday September 27th 2007, 3:03 pm
Filed under: Glory, glory, glory
Filed under: Glory, glory, glory
I walked through the Yard early this morning, with a bag in one hand (filled with breakfast remains) and a phone in the other (filled with digital desid.), holding onto each only by fingertips. There was a light breeze from the west. For three breaths I was filled with a primal joy in friction. Holding things felt particularly freeing.
It passed; in another minute I was trundling east at forty miles an hour; I jumped into conversation with Tariq Krim and a night’s century of mail and the rest of the world.
0 Comments
No Comments so far
Leave a comment
Leave a comment
Line and paragraph breaks automatic, e-mail address never displayed, HTML allowed:
<a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>