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This fall weather reminds me of the rough times I went through breaking up with Shelli and with Ronna; I’m annoyed with myself for being so vulnerable to Sean. Yet I’m also pleased, in a way, for this means I’m not yet dead emotionally – not if I can still feel these crazy feelings about Sean.

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When I got home I saw live photos of the jet crash; it was taking off during a bad snowstorm and went right into the 14th Street Bridge, killing motorists before it fell into the icy Potomac. It was Air Florida flight #90 en route to Tampa and Fort Lauderdale – the exact flight I took last summer.

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I went out to the Broward Mall for dinner and then took a long drive up to Parkland and back. The phone was ringing as I entered the apartment. It was Jonathan. “I have bad news,” he said.

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Crad Kilodney wrote me that he’s having very bad luck selling World Under Anaesthesia on the streets of Toronto. Crad wrote, about his street bookselling adventures and about mankind in general:“It’s the grand parade of witless human meat.”