I wish I could say Jerry Lind found the Fortress but I’m not sure. A word of the day but perhaps not this particular day in the late of May. I wish I could say the 27th so I did. Jerry Lind was 2 years old, yet a striking young man with Asian Indian features and with red complexion like an American kind. It’s like he entered The Sphere at New Delhi or thereabouts with its American Indian street names and profuse graffiti and collapsing black hole style garages and then couldn’t find his way back out. It’s that way with the Fortress as well: one door in, no exit. You were one with God. Happy birthday, 2!
—–
“It’s like I couldn’t touch him, he was so damaged with the rain pouring into his head like an inverted sky. He had the circular umbrella unfolded wide, yet the water came and came, shower ON.”
“I’m sorry, W,” I responded. “I know that must have been hard.”
“You don’t know the 1/2 of it. The *1/2* of the 1/2.”
“That must have been 1/4th as hard as I can possibly imagine, then.”
“You said it! Wait, what?”
