A tack-sharp photo of my dashboard.
To the license plate reading “DDDADDY”—you may have won this round, but I promise to keep on fighting. I WILL have your photograph on my phone.
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“Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolf?” asks last remaining sheep in family targeted by notorious lupine mutton-hunter. “Me! I’m afraid of Virginia Wolf!”
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As a writer both half-seduced by and totally unable to see how to actualize the “Thousand True Fans” hypothesis, I found this essay by Dave Karpf quite helpful. My internet work remains 100% unmonetized.
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Sure everyone, including me, a billionaire, would be safer in a society where all prospered. But consider my thrills of fear as I consider the scary masses beyond my compound walls.
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I’m thinking back to that moment a month ago: wife in labor, I’m driving to the hospital as carefully as possible, feeling serious and sacred. I look up and see, through a trick of the light, two adjacent business signs, merged into one: “PANINI PSYCHIC”
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“howdy pardner”
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An enchanted doorway beckons.