Marvelous Griffin.
I loved the tour of Hazelwood. (so much so, that I was able to block the image of Capt Hazelwood swigging schnapps and spilling oil in Valdez.)
Living in this old (for the midwest US) 1919 building, I find myself staring into space and wondering who was walking around here in 1926. The hardwood floors didn't groan like this. The plaster was still fresh. The mouldings weren't all darkened with age and layers of varnish. These huge old iron radiators were state of the art. Somebody probably sat right there on that one looking out at the train station hub-bub. I don't believe in ghosts as such, but man I gotta tell you sometimes old buildings can talk.
Is that true about the migrating geese, or did you conjur that?
The problem with writing the way you do John, is that it requires sustained excellence, and once you achieve that, I come to expect it. You deliever the goods, again, and I read it with great interest. Afterward, I think, of course it's great, it's supposed to be. You set the bar way way way too fucking high dude.
Fuck up every once in awhile, would ya?