I Was Like A Cat

Sunday Afternoons Are The Longest Afternoons Of All.

Writing, For Me, Is A Search For God.

There Was Hope In Him, And Soon Perhaps The Outline Of His Journey Would Take Form.

Wherever You Look There’s Meanness And Corruption. This Room, This Bottle Of Grape Wine, These Fruits In The Basket, Are All Products Of Profit And Loss. A Fellow Can’t Live Without Giving His Passive Acceptance To Meanness. Somebody Wears His Tail To A Frazzle For Every Mouthful We Eat And Every Stitch We Wear—and Nobody Seems To Know. Everybody Is Blind, Dumb, And Blunt-headed—stupid And Mean.

For You See, When Us People Who Know Run Into Each Other That's An Event. It Almost Never Happens. Sometimes We Meet Each Other And Neither Guesses That The Other Is One Who Knows. That's A Bad Thing. It's Happened To Me A Lot Of Times. But You See There Are So Few Of Us.