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Will it make a sound or in its own song be drowned?
I am returned to Boston. The train did nothing remarkable except arrive on time. I read Farah Rose Smith's Of One Pure Will (2019) and the manuscript of a novel by Michael Cisco that I want to exist in print already; it has yaks and Messerschmidt heads. He took this picture of me last night with Herman. Now I am going to bed.
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He's so light! He's like ninety percent floof! When he rolls over onto his back and waves his tail enticingly, he resembles a self-willed feather duster!