Stranger | Oct 30 2005
Many years ago, more years than can possibly be true, Rick Boike discovered my journal in my then girlfriend’s van and wrote a new entry in it: “Can’t sleep. Can’t eat. I love a stranger.”
He wrote this in big, crooked letters—a madman’s scrawl.
A man signs a shovel and so he digs.
Accessibility statement, Site map, Syndicated feeds
XHTML, CSS, 508 / Movable Type
© 1999-2007 Michael Barrish