Dear Wigleaf,

I'm here on the A train, where I get most of my good writing done these days. The guy that was asking for change just got off, and a mariachi band is coming through now, so I can finally hear myself think. The cacophonous quiet of a subway during rush hour is everything a man could ask for, to fill his creative juices. Especially in the minutes soon after finishing my morning coffee, I feel those juices flowing. This will get me through the rest of today. I miss you.

Bezalel





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Read BS's story "I, Etgar Keret."

w i g · l e a F               02-19-12                                [home]