In Which Don Quixote Loses His Lustre

Are you thinking of moving? I think you should head to Los Angeles. Maybe there you could get back some of the international cultual predominance you bemoan having lost. And yet, like you say, we're famous. Well, you anyway.

Me, I live in the antechamber of fame, waiting for it to call me in for my audience, which I hope will be long, but probably won't be. And during which I'll have to find a way to tell my long story in a short time. Perhaps no more than fifteen minutes.

There once was a man from Nantucket

With a broom and a mop and a bucket.

You know, a crushing sort of sadness keeps me from finishing this verse.

A real crushing kind of

sadness.

I wish Sancho was here.

to at least mop up the tears.

Which run...

Also, There was man I was trailing a long time ago. Odvallo. A hunchbacked sorceror. with wickedness in his veins. I killed him. It was bloody. His wickedness oozed out of him and got all over me, I think. And it was more difficult than I imagined. In a lot of ways. And it made me reconsider a lot of things.

It was... not what I expected.

Give me a minute. I need to collect myself. And more paper.

Find me somewhere, I'll be sure to be there.

Don Quixote De La Mancha