Thank you so much to all who have sent in congratulationsI am happy, though slightly at a loss for what to do now. Fix the CD burner, I think, and call the piano tuner and pet the cat and read.
At the post office:
"New York, New York. Is this a book?"
"Why yes. Yes, it is."
All told, it came to 2 lb. 13 oz. of prose.
Our fair city's bioterrorism drill is over. The fictional irate, drunk, non-English-speaking infected people got their fictional medicine for their fictional anthrax. And the sun goes on and oneighty-one and bright today, but my God! They're forecasting snow for Wednesday! I must have been fourteen or fifteen the last time that happened. It seems highly unlikely, but may it hold.