From a letter to Diane, August 5, 1997. Written on Newton at home, near the beach.
I woke up last night at 0130 to find that my pillow had fallen against the wall, and ants had formed a bridge and were crawling all over my head.
That’s the kind of thing that happens when you’re sleeping in Amy’s Boarding House. She’s got an exchange student from Tunisia living in her room, she’s sleeping in the living room, there’s a futon and a car tent — I hear some guy she met on AOL is staying in a tent on the back lawn.
I’m starting to ramble. Perhaps I should wander off and go to bed.