There is no gate surrounding the hotel in the town of Adrgué

Him a man of Whitman more than Joyce; and I, something never quite so serious. Sandy Theobald is dead, and so we all must both suffer Borges in his absence:

Outside awaited other dreams.

I find myself unable to type much else.

Perhaps I will sign off from this blog tonight as he did so many years ago in my yearbook,

May your house be free from dragons.

Aaron Kraus

    

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