Here’s an adventure—a quiet night, open window, crickets sing, black black. A time to seek the well-known— pillow, wall, blanket, sheet sheet. Scribble scribble. Who’d retreat to the unwritten comics of sleep when everything, creep creep, is the reward of a man who awoke to see if he snored. Here in the shadows of the night.
29 August, 19 September 1979